


OWLs

by MoonCat457



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Crushes, Dumbledore's Army, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Flying, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Kissing, Mild Language, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV George Weasley, POV Original Character, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Secret Relationship, Snogging, Teen Romance, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter), Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonCat457/pseuds/MoonCat457
Summary: Emma has been best friends with Harry, Ron, and Hermione for 4 years. Now, as they are starting their 5th year, tensions and emotions are running high. The Dark Lord is back, it's their O.W.L. year, and to top it all off, Emma finds herself in an unexpected romance with the gentler half of the mischievous Weasley duo. It never is a quiet year at Hogwarts.On hiatus, pending rewrites.
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 62





	1. Homecoming at Grimmauld Place

**Author's Note:**

> So just a warning before you start reading. For now, this story is on hiatus. I hit a bit of a plot block, so I've been taking time to write some other things while I brainstorm how to fix it. I've got some ideas, but that will involve going back and doing some rewriting scenes and adding some other ones.  
> I love these characters, especially Emma, so I'm not abandoning the story. In fact, I have notes going so far in the future for Emma and George. I'm just taking some more time to make sure I give the telling of this story the justice it deserves.  
> Thanks, everyone for reading and commenting. Your support means the world to me.  
> XOXO, Erin

**CHAPTER 1**

**Homecoming at Grimmauld Place**

* * *

**EMMA**

_Emma,_

_Of course. I haven't seen you all summer because you've been God-knows-where, and now I don't even get to see you before the train to school. But it's probably just as well that you won't be going to Diagon Alley at the same time as me this time. It took long enough to convince mum to let me go back to school this year, the last thing I need is to run into Potter when I'm with her. And I know you would be going to Diagon Alley with him. You always do. You've always taken his side over mine. I don't know why I bother expecting anything different from you._

_I just wish you would even TRY to see things from my end. The Emma that I know and love is brilliant and sees through anyone's lies. I guess except for Potter's._

_I'm starting to wonder if you still even care about me._

_If you ever did._

_But whatever, I guess I'll see you on the train. Unless you sit with Potter._

_Who am I kidding? Of course, you're going to._

_Seamus_

I sit cross-legged on my bed, re-reading the letter for the third time trying to figure out how to respond to my boyfriend. I've said every possible combination of things to try to make him not be jealous of my friendship with Harry, but nothing seems to work. Not anymore, anyway.

There was once a time where he would have believed me. A time where he wasn't so blatantly jealous over my friendship with Harry. A little jealous, sure. I mean, most people in Gryffindor think that Harry and I would or should get together. But it's not like that between us. Harry is like a brother to me. The brother I wish I had instead of the one I do have. But that aside, I've only had eyes for Seamus since our third year.

Seamus and I'd been partnered together for Divination class. Because I love the subject and was very good at it and Seamus was not, we started spending more time with each other outside of class, too. We became close. I told him things I'd never told anyone else before. Not even to Harry or Hermione, who were and still are some of my closest confidants.

I liked him. And I knew he felt the same way about me. But yet, he didn't do anything about it. He was so convinced that he couldn't compete against 'the boy who lived' that he couldn't take a hint. Even after I spent part of the summer with him because he had invited me to go to the Quidditch World Cup with him and Dean. I'd gotten the same invite from Ron, but I went with Seamus instead, at least. And he still didn't get the hint when I turned Harry down for going to the Yule Ball last year. So, I finally had to just pluck up the courage to ask him to the dance myself, making it clear that I didn't want to go as 'just friends.'

And we've been together ever since.

I set the letter down next to me, then bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Ron and Hermione are in the back corner of the room, sitting in two of the three oversized and very worn armchairs by the fireplace, bickering back and forth like they have been almost the entire summer.

"Ron, I still can't believe you haven't started on your summer work at all!" Hermione says, slamming the book in her lap shut.

"I've got plenty of time, mum," Ron says sarcastically.

"This year is our O.W.L.s, you have to—"

"I swear to God, Hermione if I hear you mention the O.W.L.s one more time before—"

I'm just about to turn around to tell them to knock it off when the door opens. "Harry!" I shout, jumping off the bed and bounding across the room in four steps.

The bickering behind me stops as I throw my arms tightly around Harry's neck. I guess Harry grew a few more inches over the summer since I'm just barely resting on tiptoes to reach him properly.

"Harry!" Hermione shouts, throwing her arms around Harry as well, not bothering to wait for me to let go of him.

Harry grunts and drops his rucksack on the floor to hug Hermione and me back, or at least that's what I assume. Except, no. He brings his hands up and wedges them between him and Hermione and me to push us away. Rather forcefully, I might add.

Hermione instantly lets go and takes a step back, but I don't. I loosen my grip slightly, just enough to look at his face. He looks pissed.

I drop my arms and take a small step back, watching Harry's face intently.

His gaze moves to Ron, who just gives him an awkward nod.

"Oh, Harry, we were so worried when we heard. They can't expel you. They just can't," Hermione says in a rush.

"You couldn't have put any of this in a letter?" Harry spits, gesturing around the room. "I've gone the entire summer without a scrap of news; meanwhile, you guys were all together in… whatever this place is."

"We wanted to. We really did—" I say, reaching my hand out to touch his arm. He rips his arm away from me and glares.

"I mean, honestly, Hermione, did you honestly think that a four-page letter about our fascinating summer work would distract me from the fact that you weren't giving me any updates?"

"Harry, please," Hermione pleads, her voice wavering from being on the verge of tears.

"No, Hermione," I snap. "Just because he's upset, doesn't mean he gets to act like a jerk." I glare at Harry. He should know by now that I don't deal with his moods. "Now you look here, we gave you whatever news we possibly could. But there were certain things we couldn't tell you. We couldn't put it into writing without risking exposure. We will explain what we can, I promise. But first, you're gonna have to stop being such a tosser. It's not like we were ignoring you. You made sure of that." I hold up my hands, which are covered in peck marks from Hedwig.

Harry blows out a long breath as he looks from me, to Hermione, then to Ron, before looking back at me. His shoulders relax slightly, and I know he's calmed down at least a little. Not enough for him to apologize, but I'll take it.

"Come on, mate. Let's sit," Ron says carefully, gesturing at the three chairs by the fireplace.

Ron and Hermione take their normal seats, and I perch myself on the arm of Ron's chair so that Harry can sit in my normal chair.

Harry stares at us all for a moment before finally opening his mouth to speak. "So what exactly is this place? And what is the Order?"

I'm about to answer when there's a faint crack behind me.

"Oi, did I just hear MacKenzie reaming someone out?" George asks from behind me.

I jump, nearly falling over from my perch on the arm of the chair.

"Oh, sorry MacKenzie, did we scare you?" Fred teases just before I whirl around and smack the nearest twin square in the stomach, which happens to be him.

"Oof. That actually hurt."

"Will you stop doing that?" I hiss, punctuating each word with another swipe at the twins, who wisely take a step back.

George flashes me a devilish grin and a wink before turning to Harry. "Wotcher, Harry! Was it you she was screaming at?"

"I wasn't screaming," I protest.

"Oh, of course, you weren't," Fred says, plopping down onto the bed closest to our informal seating area.

"It's not like we couldn't hear you all the way from upstairs," George continues, sitting next to Fred.

"I was simply trying to get Harry to understand that there was a reason we couldn't tell him anything about the Order." I cross my arms defensively.

"She's right, mate. We were sworn to secrecy."

"But, we can fill you in now. We've been spying on the meetings all summer," Fred says.

"Extendable ears. Just invented them," George says, pulling a pair of giant fake ears out of his pocket.

Harry looks at the twins with admiration.

You have to admit they really are brilliant.

"What do you want to know, Harry?" Hermione asks.

Over the next 30 minutes, we all fill him in on as much as we can: about what the Order of the Phoenix is, how Voldemort may be trying to recruit new members but we aren't sure how, that Bill is working an office job at Gringotts and has been spending a lot of time with Fleur Delacour, that Charlie is part of the Order from Romania.

As we're filling him in, I notice George glance down at my letter from Seamus out of the corner of my eye. I hadn't even folded it up. I made no effort to hide it at all. Great. Just what I need. I hadn't really told anyone that we were having problems other than Hermione, and I swore her to secrecy. But now George knows.

I feel his eyes on me, and I brace myself for the question about Seamus, but it never comes. I let myself lock eyes with George briefly and notice the softness in them.

"What about Percy?" Harry asks.

I glance back at Harry as the room falls silent. Ron, George, and Fred all share a look then stare down at the floor.

I lay a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder. "There was a falling out."

"Falling out is one way to put it," Fred scoffs. "He screamed at Dad for being skeptical about being promoted for Fudge's assistant so young, especially after that competency hearing after what happened with Crouch. Dad suggested that Fudge only hired him to spy on the family, and Percy lost it."

"Mum's torn up about it. Probably best not to mention him around her," George mutters.

The room falls into silence again until the door opens.

"Harry! You made it. Why did none of you let me know he was here?" Ginny says as she makes her way over to Harry.

"Does this mean dinner's ready?" Ron asks, hopefully.

Ginny shakes her head. "No, the meeting is still going on. There must have been something big that happened because they've been in there forever."

Fred looks at Harry mischievously. "Hey, want to give our new invention a try to see if we can hear anything?"

Harry perks up. "Duh."

Everyone gets up and starts to head for the door except for George. I hurry over to my bed and pick up the letter, fold it, and begin to fiddle with it in my hands.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—" George starts to say.

"No, I left it out where anyone could see it. Don't worry about it," I say, waving a hand dismissively.

George gets up and starts to walk toward the door as I sit back on my bed, cross-legged. "You coming?"

I shake my head. "Go ahead. I should probably write Seamus back. Don't want things getting any worse." I stare down at the letter in my lap, expecting to hear the door open and close again, signaling that George has left, but instead, I feel him sit next to me. I look up, startled.

"Are you ok?" he asks.

I stare blankly at him for a moment. Since when did George and I have heart-to-hearts? I plaster on a fake smile. "Oh, yea. Just peachy."

He tilts his head to the side at my tone, which came out a lot more sarcastic than I had meant.

"Sorry, that didn't come out how I meant it. Don't worry, everything's fine. It's nothing that I can't handle. I'm used to it. Really."

"Used to it? So, he's always been a complete prat to you?"

Dammit, that is also not how I meant it.

"No, he's not— I mean, yes, right now he's a bit of a prat, but he wasn't always like this," I say in a rush to backpedal a bit. "He used to be… sweet. And kind. And…" I trail off and look down at my hands.

Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see George reach his hand out to touch mine, but then he pulls away. "It doesn't matter how he used to be if this is how he's acting right now, Emma. You don't deserve that. You deserve someone who cares. Someone who can make you laugh. Someone who knows how amazing you are."

He's right. Of course, he's right. Hermione has been saying the same thing for the past month. Except, I expect her to say those things. She's my best friend. It's different coming from George.


	2. Something Going On There

**CHAPTER 2**

**Something Going on There**

* * *

**GEORGE**

I don't really know what possessed me to stay back to check on her. It's not that Emma and I aren't friends, we are, but I usually leave the advice and touchy-feely stuff to someone else. I've never been great at it. I mean, I'm better than Fred is, but still not great. There was just something about the look on her face… I couldn't help it. Usually, she's fierce, confident, outgoing, kind, but also just a little bit terrifying, not… vulnerable. She's been putting up a good front, but there was something about her when she got to Grimmauld Place a month ago that felt off. And now I know why.

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, trying to sweep a few long strands of dark auburn hair out of her face. "You're right, I know you're right but… It's just not that simple."

"Because you love him?" I say before I can stop myself.

She pauses for a long time, then looks down at her lap and shakes her head. Is that her answer? Does she not love him, or is she just not answering?

The door opens, and Fred pokes his head into the room. "Dinner's ready, you two."

I quickly scoot slightly farther away from Emma, suddenly aware of how close we were sitting.

"Thanks, Fred!" Emma says, her demeanor suddenly shifting back to her usual self. She shoves the letter from Seamus under a book on her bedside table and stands up.

"What were you two talking about?" Fred asks, his gaze moving suspiciously between Emma and me.

"I was getting Emma's opinion on our Snackbox boils problem," I say as casually as possible.

"Oh, really? And what did she recommend?" Fred asks. He's trying to catch me in the lie.

"Essence of Murtlap," she says without missing a beat. "Helps heal cuts, so it should theoretically work on boils. See you downstairs." She stops in the doorway just behind Fred and turns back around. Her face softens as she mouths a quick "thank you" before disappearing down the staircase.

I stand up and head toward the door to follow Emma downstairs, but Fred leans against the doorframe, blocking my way.

"What's that stupid grin on your face about?"

"What stupid grin? I don't have a stupid grin? Now move, I'm hungry." I try to step around him, but he stretches, taking up more of the doorway.

"Dude, I know your faces. So I know that this look on your face is not normal. I also can tell when you're lying, so I know you two weren't talking about boils. Spill."

I let out a long breath and rub the back of my neck before finally meeting Fred's eyes. I don't want to tell him about the letter from Seamus— Emma was obviously hiding it for a reason— but he's right. I've never been able to lie to him, at least not outright. Lies of omission, on the other hand… "Fine, I was checking up on her. She hasn't been herself since she got here, so I wanted to see if she was ok."

Fred crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. "Oh, really? I hadn't noticed. He pauses for a moment then continues, talking slowly, "But you noticed… Is there something going on there?"

"What? No. She's got a boyfriend, remember?" I leave out the part about him being a downright git right now.

"Hmm. Well, I guess we should go down to dinner. Mum will be barking if we aren't down there soon." Fred stands up straight and disappears with a crack, a skeptical look on his face.

I'm not entirely sure I convinced him of anything. Except, I should have convinced him. It's the truth. Nothing is going on between Emma and me. I shake my head to clear it and disapparate with a crack, following Fred downstairs.

We both appear downstairs on either side of Mum within seconds of each other.

"Oh! You two boys!" she shouts. "Just because you can use magic now doesn't mean you have to whip your wand out to avoid a flight of stairs!"

Ginny laughs and brushes past us, carrying a bowl of mashed potatoes into the dining room.

Dinner generally proceeds as normal. I sit in the middle of the table with Fred listening to Mundungus fill us in on some story involving some illegal dealings involving a toad. I'm not paying attention much, however. I'm watching the end of the table, where Emma is sitting with Hermione, Ginny, whispering and giggling with Tonks, who is transforming her face into different animals every few seconds.

"Sirius, that's enough. He's just a child. He has no business hearing about any of this," I hear Mum shout, bringing my attention away from Emma and the girls.

Silence falls over the table as Mum stands up and starts to clear plates before everyone is finished eating.

"With all due respect, Molly, if it's anyone's business, it's Harry's," Sirius argues.

"He's right, Mrs. Weasley. I deserve to know what's going on. It's me, Voldemort is after. I should know all I can—" Harry starts to say.

"Harry, you're too young," Mum snaps, finally getting to my plate. I quickly grab the roll off of it before she's able to add it to her pile.

"I was the one who fought him off last year, why am I too young now?" Harry counters.

Sirius looks at Harry, a proud smile on his face.

"Molly," Remus starts calmly, "perhaps it might be wise to let Harry in on some information. It might be safer if he knows the dangers rather than keeping him in the dark.

"Fine, but the rest of you, off to bed," Mum says, pointing to the door.

"But, it's only 8:30 pm!" Ron protests.

"I don't care! I don't need my children hearing about any of this."

"George and I are over 17! Certainly, you don't mean us, too?" Fred interjects.

"Yea, we're of age, and we're just going to join the Order when we're done with school anyway," I add.

Mum gives a heavy sigh and looks to Dad, who nods in agreement. "Alright, but the rest of you go up to bed."

"Honestly, Mum, Harry is just going to tell us everything once he gets back upstairs, is there really a point—" Ron starts. Still, Harry shoots him a look that says, "shut up, or else we're all going to get nothing."

"Off. To. Bed." Mum points at the door again.

Ron, Ginny, and Hermione slowly get up and head to the door, but Emma stays firmly planted in her seat. I glance over at her and raise my eyebrows.

Hermione comes doubles back and grabs Emma by the arm, pulling her to the door.

"What? She's not my mother," she protests in a whisper, just loud enough for Fred and me to hear.

I nudge Fred and hold out my hand under the table.

Getting the message, he passes me the pair of Extendable Ears he was using earlier, and as Emma walks past me, I drop them on the floor.

Noticing them, Emma stops to "tie her shoes" and slips them in her pocket slyly before leaving with Hermione.

"That was our last prototype, you know," Fred whispers as Mum stands at the door and watches everyone climb up the stairs.

"Yea, I know. But I trust her."

* * *

**EMMA**

"I'm going to go brush my teeth," Hermione says before grabbing her toiletry bag and heading out the door.

There's a soft knock at the door, and I call out, "Come in." I don't bother turning around to see who it is— assuming that it's either Ginny or Mrs. Weasley— and start to braid my hair into a french braid like I do every night before going to sleep.

The door opens slightly, and I see George poke his head into the room in the reflection of the mirror I set up at the desk-turned-makeshift-vanity.

"Hey, I just wanted to get those Extendable ears from you," he says, still standing in the doorway.

"Oh, right. They're on my bedside table if you want to grab them," I say, gesturing with my elbow since my hands are busy at the moment.

George hesitates, then opens the door and takes a step into the room.

"Although, I'm not sure how much good they're going to do. Crookshanks got to them again."

He swears under his breath and takes a seat on my bed before picking up the destroyed Extendable Ears to investigate the damage. "That damn cat. These were our last pair."

I quickly finish my braid then turn to him. "Sorry, I didn't know they were your last pair. I can try to get the other end of them back from Crookshanks so you can mend them."

He looks at me appreciatively then shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Fred and I were thinking of coming up with another prototype anyway."

I get up and walk over to my bed. "You know…" I say, taking the ears from George's hands. I sit next to him and investigate the destroyed end and see that the tube part still appears intact. "You could try just using the tube part of it and abandon the ear-shaped ends."

"Huh, that's actually a pretty smart idea," he says before taking the Ears back from me. "You know, that's twice today that you may have completely saved Fred and my arses." He nudges me with his shoulder.

"Yea, well, don't thank me until you know if my ideas work or not. But if they do, I'll expect a discount whenever you two finally open up your own shop."

He looks at me, slightly surprised.

"That's the plan, right?"

"Yea, just… usually, everyone tells us that we should pick something more practical, like a job at the Ministry or something," he says dismissively.

"Yea, well, you can just tell them to bugger off. Practical is overrated. Bringing people joy is more necessary now than ever." I give him an encouraging smile.

He smiles in return, and if I'm not mistaken, I can even see his ears go slightly pink.

"George, what are you doing here?" Hermione asks with mild surprise as she comes back from the bathroom.

"Picking up the Extendable Ears from MacKenzie," he says, holding up the ears.

"I'm so sorry that Crookshanks destroyed another pair. I tried to stop him," Hermione says, setting her toiletry bag on the desk-vanity.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione. MacKenzie came up with a possible way to salvage them." He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and gives me a lopsided smirk.

Hermione takes a seat on her bed, looking considerably relieved.

"So I'm guessing since Crookshanks destroyed these, you two didn't hear anything." George shoves the ears in his pocket and leans back, resting on his hands.

"Not a peep," I say, giving him a funny look. "Making ourselves comfortable, are we?"

He smirks, and I roll my eyes.

"What did they say?" Hermione asks.

"Honestly, not much besides what we weren't already able to figure out. Although right at the end, Sirius started to mention something about You-Know-Who looking for a weapon, something he didn't have last time, but—" he stops his sentence short and sits upright. "Damn, that's probably Mum. Goodnight, you two," he says before disapparating with a crack.

I shake my head and scoot farther back onto my bed so I can climb under the covers.

Seconds later, the bedroom door opens again, and Mrs. Weasley pops her head in.

"We're getting right into bed, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione says quickly before she's able to say anything.

She gives a look around the room then slowly nods.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley!" I say brightly.

"Goodnight, girls," Mrs. Weasley says skeptically before shutting the door behind her.

Hermione stands and walks to the vanity to comb her hair, and I wait until I think Mrs. Weasley is out of earshot before speaking. "What do you think the weapon Sirius was talking about is?"

"I'm not sure. But whatever it is, it can't be good," Hermione says seriously as she runs a comb through her hair.

Suddenly, Crookshanks skulks out from underneath Hermione's bed and leaps up onto mine.

"You are one mischievous animal today, mister," I say as the cat curls up into a ball next to my hip. "You're lucky I told George that I thought the ears were salvageable, or else he might have retaliated."

Crookshanks purrs angrily, so I give him a small scratch on the head, which calms him down.

"Speaking of George," Hermione says slowly, "is there something going on there?"

I cock my head and stare at her. "With George and me?"

"You two didn't come out with the rest of us earlier to try to listen in on the end of the meeting." She sets her comb down and pivots in the chair to look at me more fully.

"He was just— I'd left a letter from Seamus on my bed, and he accidentally saw it. I think he just wanted to check on me." I start picking at my nail beds, nervously.

"What did he say this time?" Hermione asks with an edge in her voice.

"More of the same," I lie. This letter was a lot harsher than the past few, but I don't want to tell Hermione that. She's been trying to get me to just dump Seamus, but I just keep thinking that maybe once we get back to school, somehow things will get better.

"And what did George say?"

"Basically the same thing you've been saying. I deserve better, someone who will make me laugh and will appreciate how amazing I am, blah, blah, blah," I say dryly.

She hums for a moment then gets up to blow out most of the candles in the room.

"What? Spit it out."

"Just… you two also seemed pretty friendly when I came in just now, too…" She trails off suggestively.

"We're friends," I say, my tone slightly defensive.

She hums again then climbs into bed.

I roll my eyes and blow out the candle on the nightstand then try to get comfortable without disturbing Crookshanks. "You're imagining things."

"I'm sure you're right." There's a long pause before Hermione speaks again. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."


	3. Biting Snuffboxes

**CHAPTER 3**

**Biting Snuffboxes**

* * *

**EMMA**

The next few days go by in a blur as everyone stresses about Harry's upcoming trial, but finally, the day arrives. Harry and Mr. Weasley are gone before everyone wakes up, so we just sit in silence, waiting for them to get back, all too nervous to say anything.

Sometime around noon, Mrs. Weasley comes into the drawing-room where I'm sitting with Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. "Come on, kids, lunch is ready."

We don't move and instead exchange worried glances.

"I know you're all worried, but Harry and Arthur aren't due back until later this afternoon. You might as well get up and eat something to distract yourselves."

"Mum, I don't think a sandwich is going to do anything when Harry might be getting expelled at this very moment," Ron says seriously. In the five years that I've known him, Ron has always been able to eat, no matter what kind of mood he's in.

"He won't be getting expelled," Mr. Weasley's voice rings out from the hallway as he and Harry appear at the doorway.

Mrs. Weasley jumps and turns around. "Oh! Arthur, I wasn't expecting you until much later. I thought the trial—"

"Got moved up early. Luckily we were also early, or else Harry would have missed it completely. But either way, it all worked out because he was cleared," Mr. Weasley says, clapping Harry on the shoulder and grinning widely.

"Oh, I knew he would be!" Mrs. Weasley shouts, wrapping her arms tightly around Harry, who smiles awkwardly at us over her shoulder.

Ginny starts cheering and doing a little victory dance. I stand up and turn to give Hermione a relieved hug, but she's already rushing over to Harry, so I settle for Ron.

There's a faint crack behind me as Fred and George apparate into the room. "Did we hear that correctly?"

I turn to them (ignoring the fact that they nearly scared me to death for the 50th time that summer) and grin widely. "Harry was cleared!"

They high five each other and start joining Ginny in her victory dance.

By now, Hermione has let go of her death grip on Harry, so I run and throw my arms tightly around his middle, nearly knocking him over.

He grunts uncomfortably, but slowly relaxes and returns the embrace, resting his chin on my head.

Behind me, I hear Ginny, Fred, and George chanting, "He got off!" over and over again.

"I knew they couldn't kick you out," I murmur into his chest.

"It wasn't for lack of trying," he says cynically.

I pull back to look at him questioningly then pull away entirely when I see Sirius enter the room.

"Harry, how'd it go?" Sirius asks, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Cleared," Harry says simply.

Sirius slings his arm around Harry's shoulder and pulls him in to ruffle his hair. "Knew you would be," he says with a smile.

"So, mate, tell us everything," Ron says eagerly.

"Over lunch," Mrs. Weasley says sternly. "Food's getting cold."

The twins and Ginny stop dancing at the mention of food, and everyone starts to file into the dining room.

"Sorry, Molly, I can't stay. There's a jinxed toilet I have to go take care of," Mr. Weasley says before leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek.

"I understand, Arthur. I'll see you for dinner."

We all sit down, except for Mrs. Weasley, who immediately heads back to the kitchen.

I sit next to Harry and grab a sandwich off the platter. "So, what happened?"

Harry takes a sandwich from the platter and starts to fill us in on precisely what happened with his trial in between bites. First, the time got shifted nearly two hours earlier than it was supposed to be, and no one thought to tell him or Mr. Weasley. Then, the entire court was already waiting for him since he was five minutes late. Cornelius Fudge was in charge of the trial and started by reading the charges, which included his previous offenses.

"Hang on," I interrupt, quickly swallowing before continuing to speak. "They brought up that thing with your aunt? But Fudge himself said you were cleared of that. It was a total accident!"

"No, I think they were talking about that hover charm Dobby used the year before," Harry clarifies.

"Now that's just even more ridiculous," I say with outrage. "I mean, honestly, they're the Ministry of Bloody Magic, they're supposed to be experts, and they can't even tell the difference between a house elf's magic and a wizard's?"

"Besides, Dobby works at Hogwarts now, I'm sure he would happily have testified on your behalf, Harry," Hermione adds.

"That's what Dumbledore said."

"Wait, Dumbledore was there?" Hermione and I both ask in unison.

"Yea, I was getting there," Harry says exasperatedly.

"Ladies, let the man speak," Fred says.

"Yea, save all questions until the end, please," George adds.

I roll my eyes at them then nudge Harry so he can continue his story.

Dumbledore arrived shortly after Harry to defend him, despite the time change. Fudge continued to read out the charges then asked Harry to tell his side of the story, which of course, Fudge did not believe. One of the other members of the Wizengamot, however, was impressed that Harry could produce a fully corporeal patronus at the age of 15.

Hermione and I exchange a look. Both of us were there when he was able to do just that at 13, which is even more impressive.

Dumbledore produced a witness to the events, Mrs. Figg, a Squib that lives down the street from Harry's aunt and uncle. She testified that she saw the attack and that Harry was acting in defense of himself and his cousin against the dementors. Most of the members of the Wizengamot seem convinced by this story, except for Fudge and a woman named Dolores Umbridge

Fudge and Dumbledore went back and forth, arguing about Harry for a while about the laws. Dumbledore pointed out that Fudge was changing the rules since Harry was undergoing a full trial for a minor case of underage magic, which prompted the Wizengamot to agree with Dumbledore and drop all the charges.

"Well, I'm glad that at least the rest of the jury believed your story, even if Fudge didn't," Ron says once we're all sure that Harry is done speaking.

"Yea, it does seem a little strange though he was so adamant about seeing you punished," Hermione says thoughtfully.

"I'm not so sure about that," Harry says dryly. "I saw him meeting with Lucius Malfoy outside the courtroom once the trial was over."

I nearly choke on my tea. "Lucius was there?" I ask once I recover.

That can't be good.

"Yea, it seemed really suspicious—"

"Do you think the Fudge might be under the Imperius Curse?" Ron interrupts.

"That was my first thought, but Mr. Weasley insists that he thinks Fudge is acting on his own accord," Harry says, his voice skeptical.

"Lucius Malfoy has a scary level of influence in the Ministry. He doesn't need to use the Imperius Curse on people to get them to do his bidding," I say flatly. "You remember how easily he got Dumbledore removed in our second year. He has friends in nearly every department in the Ministry. Fudge probably knows that all Lucius has to do is call in a few favors or make a few well-placed threats, and the same would happen to him."

* * *

**GEORGE**

The rest of the summer holidays went by a lot slower than they should. Each day has consisted of the same routine, clean the house and rid it of dark magic, dinner, an Order meeting that we weren't allowed in on even though at least Fred and I are of age, then bed. And although Fred and I have been able to find some pretty interesting things to experiment on when Mum isn't looking, I'm actually itching to get back to school. Not to learn, of course. Mostly just to get a fresh batch of test subjects for our Skiving Snackboxes, seeing as no one around here is willing to. So, it's a relief that now there are only two days until September 1st.

Fred and I manage to finish cleaning the list of rooms Mum gave us early, so we decide to hide in the drawing-room to investigate today's haul. We move two armchairs facing the corner to block the view from the door, then dump out our knapsacks onto an ottoman and take inventory.

"What's this?" Fred picks up a small ornate box.

"I wouldn't open that if I were you."

I whirl around to see Emma leaning against the doorframe. "Blimey, MacKenzie, you can't just go around sneaking up on people like that!"

"Now you know how it feels," she says with a smirk.

"What, it punched him?" Fred asks, studying the box with careful excitement.

"No, it puts you to sleep. It's a music box, why would it punch you?"

"She's got you there, mate," I say with a laugh. "Although, now that you mention it, something that looks ordinary that punches you would be an amazing product. Thanks for the idea."

"No problem." She joins us in the corner and casually sits on the arm of my chair. "So, what did you two steal today?"

"We didn't steal anything," Fred says pointedly.

"Yea, we just borrow. We put everything back," I add.

"Same difference," she says dismissively. "What's this?" She rests a hand on my back for balance and leans forward, reaching for a silver snuffbox. The snuffbox opens its lid and snaps closed on her hand quickly. "Ouch!" she yells, quickly yanking her hand back. "Dammit. Why does everything in this house keep trying to bite me?"

"Sorry, I should have warned you about that one. I think it has some wartcap powder; we just need to figure out how to get it to stop biting to get it out," Fred says.

She scowls at the box and holds her injured hand protectively in her other hand.

"Here, let me see," I say gently, holding my hand out to her.

She tentatively holds out her injured hand, and I take it in mine, inspecting her fingers. "Well, I don't think you managed to touch any of the wartcap powder, or else you hand would have started getting all hard and crusty."

"Great," she says sarcastically.

I start to flex her fingers slightly. "Does that hurt?"

"Only a smidge."

"I think you'll be ok," I say with a smile.

"Thanks, George." We lock eyes for a moment, and she gives me a small smile before slowly withdrawing her hand, which I didn't even realize I was still holding until just then.

Fred coughs, and I quickly lean back in my chair to put some distance between Emma and me.

I start to hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching, followed by Mum's voice. "Kids, your Hogwarts letters are here!"

Emma wipes her hands on her jeans and looks at the snuffbox warily again before getting up. "I'll head her off so you two can hide all of that." She gestures at the pile of 'borrowed' goods on the ottoman then heads out of the room.

I lean forward and start sweeping everything into my knapsack, careful to avoid the biting side of the snuffbox. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Fred leaning back, looking at me with an amused look. I tuck the bag underneath my chair then lean back. "What?"

"You've got it bad, mate," he teases.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say casually.

"MacKenzie. You like her."

"She has a boyfriend."

Fred grins. "Yea, you've said before. But that's not exactly a denial that I'm right. Admit it. You're into her."

I take a look at the doorway to make sure no one is coming. "It doesn't mean anything. It'll probably go away once we're back at school. It's probably just because we've spent the whole summer together—"

"Codswallop. It's a lot more than a stupid fleeting crush, and you know it."

I kick him to stop him from talking just as Emma comes back into the room, along with Ron, Hermione, and Harry.

"These are for you two," Emma says, handing us each a letter.

"Looks like they found another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Harry says, scanning the book list.

"Yea, that was apparently very hard to do this year," I say, opening my own letter, which has significantly fewer books on it than last year.

"Hey, Ron, this fell out of your envelope," Emma says, leaning over to pick up a shiny piece of metal off the floor. She lets out a squeal. "Ron's been made Prefect!" Emma exclaims before throwing her arms around Ron's neck for a strangling hug. "Oh, congratulations, Ron!"

"Oh, no, not another one," I grumble.

"No, really? I thought for sure it was going to be Harry," Fred says in disbelief.

"Emma, let go of me, I can't breathe," Ron says with a grunt.

Emma smiles and plants a kiss on Ron's cheek before letting go, which makes his ears go a faint shade of pink.

"Really, Ron?" Hermione says, her mouth dropping wide open for a moment before she's able to compose herself.

"See, even Hermione assumed it was going to be Harry," Fred says.

Hermione glares at him and gets up from her seat and goes to hug Ron, which makes his ears go from a faint pink to a violent shade of red. "That's brilliant, Ron."

"Almost as brilliant as the shade of red, Ron's ears are right now," I tease.

"Hermione, open your letter. I'd bet anything that you're one, too," Emma says excitedly.

Hermione opens her letter and pulls out a shiny badge that matches the one Ron's holding.

"Knew it."

"What is all the commotion in here?" Mum says as she walks into the drawing-room.

"Ickle-Ronnikens made Prefect," Fred says in a dry voice.

"Hermione, too," Emma adds.

"He… what?" She takes in the shiny badge that Hermione is forcibly pinning to Ron's shirt. "Oh, Ron! A Prefect! I can't believe it!" She sweeps him into a crushing hug and continues gushing over him. "That's everyone in the family!"

"Oi, what are Fred and I then? The ghoul that lives up in the attic?" I say indignantly.

"You two look surprisingly un-revolting for ghouls," Emma says without skipping a beat.

I beam at her.

Mum gasps, realizing her mistake, but doesn't let go of Ron. "Oh, I'm sorry, you two. I'm just in such shock! Just wait until your father hears! You could go on to be Head Boy just like Bill."

"Oh, no. Not the Bill comparison."

"Yea, don't go giving him a big head, Mum."

"Quiet you two," Hermione snaps at us.

Mum finally lets go of Ron, who instantly starts rubbing his neck uncomfortably. "This calls for a celebration. Tomorrow, when I go out to get everyone's supplies, I'm going to get supplies to throw a big party. And something as a reward for Ron. What do you want, Ron? Oh! I know! Perhaps a new broom?"

Ron blushes even harder. "Really? I mean, not a super expensive one or anything…"

"I know. Oh! I just can't believe it." Mum turns and starts walking out the door, muttering a shopping list to herself as she heads down the hall.

***

The next night, Mum really does pull out all the stops to celebrate Ron and Hermione becoming Prefects. Half of the Order shows up in addition to everyone staying here, including Mundungus, which is good since Fred and I need to replenish our stock of Venomous Tentacula seeds.

"Thanks, Dung," I say, slipping the vial of seeds into my jacket pocket.

He nods, then stands up and makes a beeline to the refreshments table for a refill of fire whiskey.

"Be careful, you two," Harry warns, taking Mundungus' recently vacated seat. "Moody could be watching."

Fred waves his hand dismissively. "Nah, he's upstairs trying to deal with that boggart in the upstairs writings desk."

"It's like he doesn't know that this is supposed to be a party," I say, dropping my voice to just about a whisper, in case Harry's right.

"Who are we talking about?" Emma whispers conspiratorially.

"Who else? His royal Prefectness, the guest of honor at this fair shindig."

She smacks me on the arm. "Oh, leave Ron alone. Let him have this."

"Not likely," Fred mutters under his breath.

She rolls her eyes and takes a seat on the arm of my chair. I wonder she would choose to perch herself on the arm of my chair rather than take the empty seat on the couch next to Harry.

I look at her out of the corner of my eye and catch her staring across the room. "Where's your head at, MacKenzie?"

"He's in a room full of people, but he looks so alone," she says pensively.

"Who?"

"Sirius."

I follow her gaze and notice Sirius standing in the corner, sipping wine from a goblet as he watches the party unfold in front of him.

Hermione joins us and takes the seat next to Harry.

"I think he wishes I was staying here with him," Harry says.

"But he knows you belong at Hogwarts. I think Mrs. Weasley is right, Harry. He confuses you with your father, and that's not fair to you," Hermione says.

"Well, of course, he does," Emma says defensively. "I mean, think about it from his perspective. One moment, he's looking at his best friend in the entire world and then the next moment he's dead. Then he goes straight to prison, and when he gets out, he meets Harry, who is just the spitting image of how he remembers his friend."

"But he's an adult. He's too old for that and should know better," Hermione says sternly.

"Except, he's not too old. Not really anyway," Emma says softly. "I mean, think about it. He was how old when he went to Azkaban? Twenty? Twenty-one? Yea, he spent twelve years in Azkaban, but you can't honestly count those as actual time. They were more like limbo for him."

Hermione quiets, and Harry stares off at Sirius.

I look up at Emma with awe. Since when has she been so insightful? I know she's brilliant, but the fact that she's so easily able to recognize and understand another person's feelings is something else.

I quickly glance away before she can notice that I'm staring at her and lock eyes with Fred. He raises his eyebrow at me.

Damn him if he wasn't right yesterday. I don't think that this is a stupid little crush. And if I continue to spend any more time with her, it's definitely not going to go away anytime soon.


	4. Through Platform 9 and 3/4

**CHAPTER 4**

**Through Platform 9 and 3/4**

* * *

**EMMA**

"Do you want the light off?"

"Hmm? Oh, yea," I say distractedly.

Hermione looks at me with worry. "Are you ok? You've been quiet ever since the party."

I offer her a tight smile, unwilling to tell her exactly what's on my mind. "Yea, I'm fine. I'm just starting to have some pre-school nerves is all."

"I know what you mean," Hermione says as she climbs into bed after blowing out most of the candles in the room. "What did Mr. Weasley want?"

"What?"

"He pulled you aside after the party?" Hermione looks at me again with concern.

"Oh, he just wanted to give me a letter from my grandparents. My dad passed it to him at work today."

"Your muggle ones?"

I nod. "I expect my grandmother's just wondering what kind of cookies I want in my back-to-school care package." Hermione's eyes light up, and I force a laugh. "I'll have her send extras."

There's a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley pokes her head in. "Get to sleep, you two. We have to be up early in the morning."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione says. The door closes, and she blows out the candle on the bedside table, leaving us in darkness. "Goodnight."

"Night." I lay on my back for a while, staring at the ceiling. Once I'm sure Hermione is asleep, I grab my wand and the letter from the nightstand and turn my back to her. I wave my wand and whisper "Lumos," and a faint light emanates out from the tip of my wand, illuminating the envelope. It has a small stamp of Queen Elizabeth II in the top right corner, and Grandma's neat cursive handwriting on the front addressed to the Muggle P.O. box Dad keeps for my grandparents to be able to send mail to James and me.

I carefully rip the envelope open and unfold the letter with shaky hands.

_My darling sunflower,_

_I hope your summer has been going well. I will admit I miss you and our summers together dearly, but I understand you want to spend time with your school friends. I'm sure they are loads more fun that us old folks, although your grandfather disagrees with me on the "being old" part. You know him, always saying, "I'm just as young at heart as all those kids these days." I know that you will be going off to school soon, so please send me a letter when you get there so I can send you the annual "back to school" care package. I remember how stressful this upcoming year was for James and his friends, so I know a homemade treat will make things at least a little more cheerful._

_Unfortunately, this letter is not all about sweets. I hate that I'm having to tell you this through a letter, but I know that you probably don't have a telephone. Your grandfather has gone into the hospital. Last week he had a stroke while he was stocking the shelves at the shop. I've told him a dozen times that there's a reason we hired a local boy to help in with the heavy lifting, but you know how stubborn he is. He survived the initial attack, but he is still pretty weak. The doctors say that most men of his age that have strokes don't survive the first few hours, so they are hopeful that he will make a recovery._

_I will keep you updated on his condition as it improves, and I know that it will improve._

_Stay positive and kick school's arse this year. I know you can._

_I love you._

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Grandma Mary_

I extinguish my wand and return the letter and my wand to the side table, then turn back onto my side and curl into a ball.

I'm not sure why I thought reading the letter myself rather than getting the news from Mr. Weasley would help. If anything, Grandma's unending positivity makes me feel worse. I should have been there. I usually spent every summer with my grandparents. But no. Last summer, I was too busy with Seamus and the Quidditch Cup, and this summer, Dad thought it would be safer to stay with the Order. And although he was probably right, now Grandpa is in the hospital, and I haven't seen him in nearly two years. What if he doesn't make it?

That would make twice that I lost someone close to me. Except for the last time, I wasn't even old enough to process it.

I don't remember Mom. She died just after I was born. Even in the Wizarding World, childbirth can be risky; at least, that's what Dad had told me when I asked about it once I was at the age that I was able to comprehend death. That day when I was six was one of the only conversations I had with Dad about her. He never talks about her. Part of me thinks it's because it's too painful for him. The only information I have about her is from my grandparents. It's one of the reasons I spend so much time with them; they're one of my only connections to her. He loved her dearly, I do know that much. Dearly enough to risk possible disownment just to be with her.

See, my mother was muggle-born, which Dad didn't care about, but his family did. He came from a long line of pure-blood wizards. The exact types that you see sorted into Slytherin for generations and who's bigoted thinking is the reason for the impending war. And at first, Dad followed suit. He was sorted into Slytherin, only interacted with other pure-blood families, just like the Malfoy's, but then he met my mother. They were Prefects together, Dad for Slytherin and Mom for Ravenclaw, and he fell madly for her. Of course, his parents weren't thrilled about it, but he didn't care. As Grandpa had said when he was telling me this story, Dad "told his parents where they could shove it if they weren't going to respect his wife. But those MacKenzies had far too much class to make too much of a fuss about it. The scandal of disownment was far bigger than that of a muggle-born daughter-in-law."

But then, of course, my parents were only able to spend about 10 years together before Mom died. The family accepted Dad back more fully once Mom was gone, along with his old pure-blood school friends like the Malfoys. He doesn't support their ideals, but I think he just didn't want to lose anyone else after that. I can't really blame Dad for that, even if it is horrible seeing Draco regularly for family functions in addition to having to deal with him at school. I learned to just deal with it and put on a brave face.

Which is precisely what I'm going to have to do tomorrow morning. But for now, in the privacy of the cocoon of my sheets, I let myself cry.

***

We all woke up late, so everyone is scrambling to get ready to leave for the train, and no one is really paying attention to me. It makes pretending nothing is wrong the next morning easier than I anticipated. Although, putting on a brave face is something I'm already pretty good at. I learned it early and mastered it. I'm worried enough about Grandpa, the last thing I need it people fussing over me and asking me how I am. I finish packing everything into my trunk and manage to make it down the stairs avoiding all of the chaos of everyone packing.

I walk into the kitchen, which is empty save for Sirius and George, and make a beeline for the kettle on the stove.

"Morning, MacKenzie," George says in a tone that is way more cheerful than I can deal with right now.

Usually, I'm more of a morning person, but I didn't sleep at all last night, so there is no way that I could hold a proper conversation right now. At least, not without coffee first. I take a sip from my mug, not even bothering to put milk or sugar in it.

Sirius laughs. "That girl has her priorities in the morning. Never mind us."

I take another sip of my coffee then turn around. "Sorry, morning."

Sirius smiles and stands. "I think I'll go say goodby to my godson before you all head off to the train," he says with a hint of sadness he's clearly trying to mask.

I quickly set my mug down and walk over to him. "In case we leave before you come back down," I say before throwing my arms around his waist, "thank you for letting us stay with you all summer."

"Oh," Sirius says with mild surprise before patting me on the back. "You're welcome, dear." He pulls away and holds me by the shoulders. "You're welcome to visit anytime."

I smile at him, which he returns, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Although, I'm sure mine doesn't either.

Sirius leaves the room, and I walk back over to the stove and pick up a scone off the pan then jump up onto the island counter. George gets up from his seat and walks around the island to the stove.

"That was nice of you," he says, leaning against the counter across from me.

"Hmm? That was nothing," I say dismissively before draining the rest of my coffee in one gulp.

"Didn't sleep very well?"

"Not particularly." I look down and start picking at my scone.

"Nervous about seeing Seamus again?" He doesn't look at me when he asks. Instead, he stares at the pan on the stove before finally taking a piece of bacon.

"Well, it was just pre-term school stress, but now that you mention it, that's probably part of it." I set my mostly uneaten scone on the counter next to me, suddenly not very hungry. I'd nearly forgotten about Seamus if I'm honest with myself. Between cleaning the house for the past month and then the news about Grandpa last night, he'd never been further from my mind. That probably isn't a good sign.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up." George shoves the rest of his bacon in his mouth.

"No, it's fine."

"Do you have any idea what you're going to say?"

"Not really. But, I expect he's not exactly going to be happy seeing as I never answered his last letter," I say flippantly.

"Wasn't that nearly a month ago?"

"You read it. What would you have said?"

"I probably would have sent him packing, honestly. No guy would get away with talking to me like that. No matter how dreamy." He clutches his hand to his chest and pretends to swoon.

I can't help but laugh. "You mean girl?"

"Well, yes. But in this scenario, I'm you."

I sigh and look at my lap. "Yea, well, I couldn't exactly break up with him over a letter, could I? Things like that are best done in person, aren't they?"

"Are you going to? Break up with him, I mean," he asks.

I look up at him and we lock eyes. He looks almost hopeful.

I open my mouth to say something, what I'm entirely sure, but thankfully Mrs. Weasley comes in and saves me from having to figure it out.

"There you two are. You both better be packed. And Emma! Get off that counter."

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley. Yes, I'm all packed."

"Me, too, Mum."

"Good, I want you both outside with your trunks in three minutes," Mrs. Weasley says before quickly rushing back into the hallway to wrangle more people.

Since we're already in London, the car ride to King's Cross doesn't take long, and we arrive with plenty of time to board the train, even with us running late this morning.

George and Fred bid us goodbye so they can find Lee Jordan, and Ginny goes off to find her friends from her year, leaving me with just Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Should we go try to find a compartment?" Harry suggests.

Hermione and Ron share an awkward glance. "Actually, Harry, Ron and I have to go find the other Prefects to have our first meeting."

"Right, of course," Harry says in a bitter tone.

I give him a withering look, which is all I can manage at the moment due to how tired I am, then turn back to Ron and Hermione. "We'll catch up with you at dinner."

They say their goodbyes and walk away, and once they're at a far enough distance, I smack Harry hard on the arm.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"Honestly Harry, Ron is supposed to be your best friend. I know you're upset that you didn't make Prefect, but the least you could do is be happy for him," I say sternly.

He glares at me for a moment, then his face softens. "You're right."

"I know. Now lets go find a compartment." I link my arm through his and start pulling him down the hallway. We walk almost the full length of the train before we're able to find even a partially empty compartment. "Come on, it looks like everywhere else is full."

"Who is that?" Harry asks, starting through the compartment window at a girl with white-blonde hair and weird pink sunglasses.

"I think that's Loony— Luna Lovegood," I correct myself. "She's a Ravenclaw in the year below us. She's a bit eccentric, but she's nice, according to Ginny." I slowly open the compartment door and poke my head in.

Luna looks up from her magazine, which I'm pretty sure she's reading upside-down. "Oh, hello."

"Hi, Luna. Do you mind? Everywhere else is full."

She gestures to the seat across from her, and I open the door more fully so we can enter.

"I'm Emma, and this is—"

"Harry Potter," Luna finishes for me. "I know. You're friends with Ginny."

I give her a smile, which she returns before going back to reading her magazine. On a normal day, I would probably ask her about it, since I've never read or even heard of the "Quibbler", but I feel like the more I try to force conversations, the easier it would be for Harry to notice that there's something wrong with me.

"If you want to go find Seamus, I'll be fine here," Harry says, breaking the silence.

"Oh, I'll just see him later."

"You two didn't break up and not tell me, did you? Because you didn't get any letters from him the entire time we were at— the Burrow," he says, quickly covering over the fact that he almost said 'Headquarters'.

As if by some cruel joke, I look out into the hallway and notice Seamus walking with Dean. We lock eyes for a moment, and his gaze is surprisingly tender, at least until he sees that I'm sitting next to Harry. His eyes turn cold, and he turns sharply on his heel and stalks off.

"Well that was uncomfortable," Luna says, having looked up from her magazine to witness the entire affair.

I look at Harry and sigh. "No, we haven't broken up. Just haven't talked all summer. Unless fighting counts as talking."

He turns to face me and looks at me with concern. "Why didn't you say anything?"

I don't answer.

"Em, you don't have to keep me in the dark about everything just because I've got some stuff going on. I'm not as fragile as everyone thinks," Harry snaps.

"I wasn't keeping you in the dark! Did you happen to consider that maybe I didn't want to talk about it? Honestly, Harry, not everything is about you," I snap back at him.

He looks at me with a mixture of shock and hurt like I had just slapped him across the face.

I sigh and rub my temples. I am definitely not making a good first impression on Luna. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean that. I'm just exhausted. I didn't sleep last night and—" I break off and take a deep breath, "And, honestly, I hadn't gotten a letter from him since right before you got to… the Burrow, and after that, I may have slightly forgotten about him…maybe. Which, I know, isn't exactly a good sign."

He looks at me softly. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? Here," he shrugs out of his hoodie and hands it to me, "you can even use my jacket as a pillow."

I let out a relieved breath. Harry may not always say the exact right things, but he at least knows when I don't want to talk about something. I do my best to curl on the available space on the seat, but after a few minutes of readjusting, Harry lets out a small sigh and slides my 'pillow' onto his lap.

"It wouldn't be the first time you fell asleep on me," he says with a laugh.

I smile gratefully up at him then lean my head against his leg.

Harry gives me a friendly pat on the head, and I slowly let my eyes drift shut. I'm sure that the image of me sleeping with my head in Harry's lap is going to spread like wildfire and get back to Seamus somehow, but I'm either too tired or too upset to care.


	5. A Quiet Gryffindor Common Room

**CHAPTER 5**

**A Quiet Gryffindor Common Room**

* * *

**EMMA**

I’m not really sure how long I’m out for, but by the time I wake up, Hermione and Ron have joined us in our compartment, and Luna is gone. I slowly open my eyes and blink at them to try to bring them into focus. 

“When did you guys get here?” I say groggily.

“Shh,” Hermione whispers, pointing at Harry. I turn my head to look up at Harry and see that he’s fast asleep, his head leaning against the compartment wall.

“Guess I’m not the only one who didn’t sleep last night,” I whisper. I turn my head back to look at Ron and Hermione but make no effort to sit up. Harry’s arm is draped over my shoulder, and I don’t really want to wake him. “How much longer until we get to school?”

“Not long,” Hermione whispers. “Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Shouldn’t we wake Harry then?” Ron asks.

“Probably.” I gently nudge him in the stomach, and he springs awake.

“What? Ron, Hermione, how long have you been here?”

I sit up and stretch.

“Since about an hour into the train ride. Our meeting didn’t last long,” Ron says.

“You two just looked so peaceful, we… ok, I didn’t want to disturb you,” Hermione says after a quick look from Ron. Something tells me he would have been completely on board for waking Harry and me up.

We change into our uniforms and chat about the new Prefects on our way up to the castle. Draco is a Prefect for Slytherin, along with Pansy Parkinson. No surprise on either front. It seems as though Ron and Hermione will both have a lot of extra responsibilities this year with their new Prefect duties.

I can’t help but think that it’s a little cruel to thrust that amount of responsibility on someone the same year as their O.W.L.s. I mean, these exams are the starting point for deciding our careers. Shouldn’t that be more of the focus rather than peer-policing? Hermione doesn’t seem to share my sentiments on that, though.

We get up to the castle and make out way into the Great Hall. I lock eyes with Seamus again, and he does not look happy. I really hope he doesn’t decide to pick a fight with me over dinner. If I could just get him alone for a moment, I could maybe talk him down. Try to get him to understand. Thankfully though, he decides to sit clear on the other end of the table, far away from where I choose to sit with Harry, Hermione, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys, and Lee Jordan.

“Oi, MacKenzie, I’m surprised you’re sitting with us and not your boyfriend over—” Lee starts to say as soon as I sit down. “Ouch! George, what in the bloody hell was that for?”

“Sorry, foot slipped,” George says flatly.

I lock eyes with George and mouth a quick “thank you.”

The hall quiets as the parade of first-years come in to be sorted. There’s even less than there was the year before. And now that I look around the room, the tables are a lot less full than they usually are. It seems that Seamus’ mother wasn’t the only one to think that sending their kids back to Hogwarts this year wasn’t the best idea. Since there are only a handful of kids to be sorted, the sorting doesn’t take very long.

Dumbledore stands up to give his announcements once Professor McGonagall takes the stool and sorting hat away. They’re usually short every year, which is good since I skipped breakfast and slept through lunch on the train and am now starving.

“Congratulations to each of the houses for their new additions. I just have a few start-of-term notices before the feast begins. First, Mr. Filch would like me to remind everyone that the Forbidden Forest is, as the name says, forbidden for all students. And second, we have two staff changes for this year. Professor Grubbly-Plank has returned to fill in for Care of Magical Creatures while our Gamekeeper Hagrid while he is away, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts position will be filled by Miss Dolores Jane Umbridge. Please join in, giving them a warm welcome.”

There is a round of polite applause as everyone takes in the fresh face at the teachers’ table.

“Who is that?” I whisper to Hermione. “And why is she wearing so much bloody pink?”

“She looks a bit like a toad, if you ask me,” Ron mutters.

“Ron!” Hermione hisses.

I take a good look at her. Ron’s right. Dolores Umbridge is a short woman with a stuck up nose and a foul expression on her face, which, in fact, makes her look a bit like a toad.

“That’s the woman from my trial,” Harry says.

“She’s from the Ministry?” Hermione whispers.

“Not just from the Ministry. She’s basically Fudge’s right-hand man. She was one of the ones on his side for kicking me out.”

The applause dies down, and Dumbledore continues. “Now, with that out of the way, let the feast—”

Umbridge stands up and clears her throat with a high-pitch cough. “If I may say a few words, Professor.”

Dumbledore gives her an odd look then steps away from his podium so that Umbridge might speak.

“Thank you, Professor, for those kind words of welcome. I so look forward to getting to know each and every one of you. I hope that we are all able to be very good friends—”

“That’s likely,” Fred and George mutter sarcastically.

“—witches and wizards are the future, and therefore their education is of the utmost importance. While every headmaster and headmistress has brought something new to this amazing institution, change for the sake of change should be discouraged. I believe in a balance between the old and the new—“

“What the hell is this waffle?” Ron asks in exasperation.

“It’s not waffle,” Hermione whispers. “‘An era of accountability’? ‘Perfect what must be perfected’? ‘Abandoning old practices’? She’s basically saying that the Ministry placed her here to change things at Hogwarts.”

Great. That’s exactly what we needed this year in addition to everything else.

Eventually, Umbridge steps down, and we’re able to start the feast. Although, after that speech, I’m not sure I’m that hungry anymore. The idea of the Ministry interfering at Hogwarts… It’s just unsettling.

After everyone is finished eating, Dumbledore makes an announcement for all the first years to follow the Prefects to the dorms, which meant Ron and Hermione had to leave Harry and me behind. Luckily, they told Harry and me the new password on the train, so we were able to make our way up to the common room in our own time.

“I wonder where Hagrid is,” Harry muses as we start to climb the stairs.

“I’m not sure. The way Dumbledore was speaking, it seems like maybe Hagrid is on a mission or something.” I look at Harry out of the corner of my eye and notice that he has an almost pained expression on his face. I pull him into a corridor to let the people behind us pass.

“What is it?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Every time someone mentions Dumbledore, you get this look on your face.”

“There isn’t a chance that you’re not going to let this go, is there?” he asks hopefully.

I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him.

“Didn’t think so. I didn’t want to say anything at first, but at the trial, Dumbledore was avoiding me. He refused to make eye contact with me, wouldn’t say a word directly to me, and then he just left the room the second the charges were dropped.”

“And it’s bothering you,” I concluded.

“Yea. Look, I know it’s ridiculous, which is why I didn’t say anything. It’s just—”

“It’s not ridiculous, Harry.” I lay a hand on his arm. “He’s your mentor. It’s understandable to be upset that he’s avoiding you. But maybe he just didn’t want to seem too friendly with you in front of the jury. He probably thought that it would weaken his defense if they thought he was playing favorites.”

“Yea, maybe,” he agrees in an unconvinced kind of way.

I smile reassuringly and loop my arm through his. “Come on, let’s go to the common room.” We climb the rest of the stairs in comfortable silence, then say the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady and climb through the hole.

The loud sound of various conversations quiets almost the moment that we enter the common room. Some people drop their voices to a whisper, whereas others stop their conversations entirely to stare at us. Well, mostly, Harry.

Harry steps further into the room, half defiantly and half exhausted. “Hello, did everyone have a good summer?” he says, trying to keep an even tone.

Dean, who was standing a few feet away next to Seamus, pipes up first. “Yea, I did, Harry. How about you?” he asks tentatively. I can tell he’s trying to diffuse the tension in the room. Not that it’s going to be successful.

I look at Seamus, who looks about the angriest I’ve ever seen him. And here it comes. I drop my arm from Harry’s and step close to Seamus, resting a hand on his chest gently. “Seamus, don’t.”

Seamus pushes past me and starts to get in Harry’s face. “Oh, probably just peachy, right Harry? Well, my summer wasn’t.”

I try to catch his arm. “Seamus, please.”

He forcefully shakes his arm free, ignoring me. “You see, me mum almost wouldn’t let me come back this year.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, knowing exactly what the answer would be, but not caring. I look at him and see that look in his eye, that same defiant look that he gets right before Snape gives him a detention.

“Hmm, let’s see, because of you. All this stuff in the Daily Prophet about your lies. Did you ever stop to think about the effect that this story you’re telling would have on others?”

“It’s not a lie,” Harry says, his voice starting to get louder. “Voldemort really did come back to life that night, and he killed Cedric.” The common room goes utterly silent at the mention of Voldemort. “I saw him with my own two eyes. But if you don’t want to listen to me, fine. Just listen to the Daily Prophet like your stupid mother.”

“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!” Seamus shouts at Harry.

That’s it. I step in between them and turn my attention to Seamus. “Will you just stop! This isn’t like you!” I scream at him.

Seamus’ eyes flick from Harry to me, and I can see the betrayal in them mixed with the anger. “Of course you stand up for him,” he seethes.

“Can we please not do this here? Can we just step outside to talk about this?” I plead with him, trying to keep my voice even. If the room wasn’t silent before, it is now. I don’t have to look around to know that now everyone is starting.

“So we can talk about what? So you can just tell me that there’s nothing going on between you two?” Seamus spits.

“There isn’t! Seamus, please, just stop shouting—”

“This is what you two have been fighting about?” Harry says quietly from behind me.

I turn around to look at him and see the guilt written all over his face. He thinks that this all his fault. I wish I had the time right now to convince him that it wasn’t. “Harry, not now,” I say as gently as possible before turning back to Seamus.

I feel Harry brush past me as Seamus starts his rant again. “I’m not an idiot, Emma! I see the way you two look at each other!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” I say, getting more and more annoyed.

“Oh, I’m ridiculous? How about the way you’ve been following him around since our first year, hanging on his every word like a little groupie—”

“That’s it!” I shout. Hot tears start to form behind my eyes, but I just clench my fists to try to keep them at bay. I am not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him see me cry.

Seamus stops and looks a little taken aback. I’ve never truly shouted at him before.

“I am sick and tired of trying to defend myself to you. It’s exhausting and insulting! You’re supposed to love me, and all you do is cause me pain. This needs to stop!” I pause, realizing that I’m screaming at him, and my voice is coming out a lot more shrill than I would like.

The anger in his eyes starts to recede as he stares at me. “What are you saying?” he asks, his voice much quieter now.

I take a deep breath to control the shrillness of my voice. “I’m saying that I’m done. We’re over.” I turn sharply on my heel and storm back out through the portrait hole.

The portrait closes behind me, and I break into a run down the corridor until I get to an empty alcove. I lean against a wall and sink to the floor just as a sob escapes my mouth. I bring my knees to my chest and close my eyes. In the distance, I hear footsteps approaching. I look up, expecting to see Hermione, but it’s not.

I furiously wipe my tears away. “Ron, what are you doing here?”

Ron slides down the wall and joins me on the floor. “I know you probably would have wanted Hermione to check on you, but she thought it would be best if she tried to talk Harry down. She’s much better at that than I am. Not that I’m good at this either… but I do have a sister.”

I let out a choked sob, then hook my arm in his and bury my face on his shoulder. Maybe it’s just the rush of emotion and hormones running through my system right now, but I’ve never been so touched by something Ron has said before. The fact that Ron, who has always been uncomfortable any time I express any sort of emotion towards him, would at least try to comfort me right now meant the world to me.

We sit like this for a while until my sobs slowed. “Thanks, Ron.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” he says, slightly confused. “But, I guess you’re welcome. Although I am a little confused. What exactly happened back there?”

I sigh and give him the shortest version possible.

“That slick git! I could curse him!” Ron growls.

I laugh, immediately remembering the time he tried to do exactly that during our second year and ended up puking up slugs for almost two days.

“What?” he asks, confused, yet also obviously relieved that I’m no longer crying.

“I don’t want a repeat of the slugs incident, but thanks. I appreciate the thought.” I smile and give him a kiss on the cheek.

Ron reddened, as he always did. “Come on, we should get back to the common room before we get in trouble.” He stands up and offers me a hand to help me up.

“Ron, you’re a Prefect. You’re allowed to be in the corridors at night,” I point out.

“Oh, yea. Still, I probably shouldn’t be abusing my power. At least, not on the first day.”

I smile and do my best to cover up the fact that I’ve been crying, wiping my eyes and running my fingers through my hair. “How do I look? Do I look like I’ve been crying?”

“Uhhh…” Ron stammers. “You look about the same as you always do?” he says hopefully.

“Good answer,” I say as I loop my arm through his to walk back to the common room.


	6. A Rough First Day

**A/N:** In case anyone was wondering, this is how I see Emma. The first collage is her for her physical appearance and how I picture her dressing and the second one os more of a mood board of things I associate with her personality. 

Oh, and the pictures in the second one aren't of her in a relationship. They're how I see her interacting with her guy friends. There will be another mood board for her relationship later, but spoilers. ;) 

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

**A Rough First Day**

* * *

**GEORGE**

I’m already downstairs at breakfast with Fred and Lee when I notice Emma come down. She sits far away toward the other end of the table, joining Hermione and Ron. Harry is still nowhere to be seen. She looks exhausted, and her eyes are all puffy and bloodshot.

“Hello? Oi! George?” Lee says, trying to get my attention.“What the heck is he staring at?”

“Probably MacKenzie,” Fred says. He follows my gaze. “Yup. MacKenzie.”

“She looks like she’s been crying all night,” I mutter to myself. “I thought she seemed alright when she came back to the common room with Ron last night.”

Lee raises his eyebrows at me then looks at Fred. “Have I missed something?”

“George has a crush on MacKenzie.”

“Shut up, Fred. I can be concerned for her without it being a crush.” I turn my attention back to my eggs.

“I can see why you’d like her, mate. She’s hot,” Lee says.

I shoot him an incredulous look.

“What? She is.” Lee shrugs. “And now she’s single. I’d hurry up and make a move before someone else beats you to it.”

“I’m not going to ask her out the day after she dumped her boyfriend,” I say. “I’m not going to ask her out at all.” I push my plate away and stand up.

“But, you are going to go check on her, aren’t you?” Fred teases.

I ignore him and head to the other end of the table. “Morning, everyone.” I take a seat next to Emma.

“Morning, George,” Emma says softly before giving me a sad smile.

I’m about to ask her how’s she’s doing when Fred and Lee join us.

“Where’s Harry?” Fred asks, taking the seat on the other side of Emma.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” Emma says bitterly.

“I assumed you’d be the one who’d want to avoid me,” Harry says, appearing out of nowhere.

“Why would I— Oh, honestly, Harry,” Emma says exasperatedly. “It’s not your fault that Seamus is a jealous pig-headed jerk. He was acting ridiculous, and I was tired of stroking his ego. I will choose our friendship over some boy any day. Now quit sulking. I’ve got enough to worry about, I don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”

Fred laughs. “Blimey, MacKenzie. Not taking anyone’s nonsense today, are you?”

“Does she ever?” I say with mild admiration.

She gives me a small smirk, but there’s still a hint of sadness underneath it.

“Oh, there’s Professor McGonagall with our schedules,” Hermione says with excitement.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Jordan,” McGonagall gets through each of our names, handing us our schedules, then hurries off to the Ravenclaw table.

“Bloody perfect,” Ron grumbles. “We have Bings, Snape, Trelawney, and Umbridge all in one day.”

“Divination shouldn’t be too bad,” Emma says hopefully.

“Yea, for you maybe,” Harry says miserably.

“Yea,” Ron agrees. “You’re actually good at it. Today is going to be a nightmare.”

“That’s going to be your whole year,” Fred says flippantly.

“Yea, the O.W.L.s are no joke,” I agree.

“Well, they were for us. We only got three each.”

“But then again, we didn’t really try.”

Hermione glares at the two of us. “Well, you should really be more serious about your exams this year. The N.E.W.T. exams determine your entire career.”

I shrug. “Except we’re not planning on taking them.”

“You’re honestly not taking them? I thought you were joking,” Ron says in disbelief.

Emma grabs my schedule out of my hand and gives it a once over. “They’re not kidding. You only have, like, four classes total. Half of your schedule is free blocks.”

“Wait, four? I only have three on my schedule,” Fred says, grabbing the schedule out of Emma’s hands. “Since when did you pick up Muggle Studies?”

“What about you, Lee? Are you taking this entire year as a joke?” Hermione challenged, ignoring Fred and my banter.

“Blimey, no. My mother would kill me,” Lee says with a laugh.

Thankfully, Hermione’s further lecture is cut short by mail delivery. A snowy owl swoops down and drops a package in front of Emma before hopping across the table to Harry.

“What, nothing for me?” Harry says before feeding the bird a bit of bacon. “Is that from your grandparents?” he asks Emma.

“Yea, thanks for letting me borrow Hedwig.” Emma rips the paper off of the package to reveal a metal tin full of cookies and other homemade sweets. “You guys can help yourselves,” she says distractedly.

Another owl swoops down, dropping another letter in her lap before flying off.

“You’re popular this morning,” I joke, taking a cookie from the tin.

“Uh, huh,” she mutters.

I give her a glance and notice that she’s intently reading the letter that accompanied the tin of sweets. Her brow is furrowed, and she’s chewing on the corner of her lip. Something in that letter is clearly distressing her.

Her hands tremble slightly as she stuffs the letter into her bag, along with the tin of cookies. She picks the other letter up from her lap, glances at the sender, then stuffs it into her bag without reading it.

“Everything alright?” I mutter under my breath, not wanting to draw too much attention.

She doesn’t answer and gets up from her seat, throwing her bag over her shoulder as she does. “I’ll see you guys in Binn’s class,” she says before dashing out of the Great Hall, just narrowly avoiding slamming right into Draco Malfoy on her way out.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, blood traitor,” I hear Malfoy shout.

My fists clench slightly. Man, I hate that git. And I hated hearing him insult Emma like that even more.

“What was that about? We don’t have class for another half an hour,” Ron says, bewildered.

“No idea,” I say, staring at the door. I wonder if it would be suspicious if I went after her. Probably very, seeing as no one else seems to even the least bit concerned. Or if they are, they aren’t saying anything.

Whatever was bothering her had to have been in that letter from her grandparents. Sure, if she was any other girl, you could probably chalk her being upset up to her breakup. But Emma wasn’t a normal girl. It wouldn’t be like her to let herself get all into a fit over a guy. Not only that, but her demeanor also shifted significantly when she got that letter from her grandparents. And I wonder who that second letter was from? She didn’t exactly seem thrilled with it either, although it looked more like annoyance than anything else.

“Fred, George, Harry. There you are,” Angelina Johnson says, dragging me from my thoughts.

“Hey, Angelina,” I say.

“Oi, Angelina. Looking fantastic as always,” Fred says, shooting her a flirtatious wink.

Angelina rolls her eyes, but I see a slight tinge of pink creep onto her cheeks.

And Fred teases me about my crush. He and Angelina clearly fancy each other, but they haven’t done anything about it since they went to the Yule Ball together last year.

“What’s up, Angelina? How was your summer?” Harry asks.

“Good, thanks. I spent the whole summer coming up with new plays. Now that Oliver has graduated and there’s no longer a Triwizard Tournament to cancel the Quidditch season, I got named Quidditch Captain.

“Oh, congratulations, Angelina! That’s fantastic!” Hermione exclaims.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Angelina says with a shy smile. “Anyway, I thought I’d come by to tell you three that we’re having tryouts on Friday. We need a new keeper. I need you all to be there.”

“Sounds good, Madame Captain,” Fred says.

She smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before walking away.

I give Fred a look. “Just ask her out already.”

“I’ve got her right where I want her, Georgie,” he says cockily.

I roll my eyes. “You’re helpless.”

* * *

**EMMA**

“Ms. MacKenzie,” Snape drawls, making me jump. “This is a dreadfully difficult potion. I would think that you would have more common sense to pay attention.”

That was probably about the fiftieth time I’d zoned out during my classes today. I just can’t stop thinking about Grandpa. I must have read the letter that came with her box of treats over a dozen times today during History of Magic earlier this morning. Essentially, he hasn’t shown any improvement after his stroke. He hasn’t woken up yet, and he’s on all of these machines to make sure that his body is working properly. Grandma says that she’s been with him every day in hospital since he got there, which was about a week ago. That means that he was in the hospital for a whole four days before I even knew about it. I was having a grand old time with my friends; meanwhile, Grandpa was lying in a hospital bed in some sort of coma. And Grandma has been sitting with him every day, alone. When did she even have the time to bake and send me cookies?

And then, of course, there was the letter from James. I swear, he was put on this Earth just to make me feel terrible about myself. His letter barely mentioned Grandpa once before going on to do some sort of not-so-humble-brag about how many O.W.L.s he got during his fifth year. He didn’t even seem that concerned about Grandpa. He just said something about “hoping to hear good news soon.” I know he was never as close to Grandma and Grandma as I am— he’d done nearly the opposite when Mom died and pulled away from them rather than get closer— but I expected at least a little more compassion. Some solidarity and sympathy maybe. Instead, he just mentioned his ten outstanding O.W.L.s and offered to send me his old notes. Why he still has his O.W.L. revisions after nine years is a mystery to me, but I definitely would not be accepting them.

So, I’ve had a lot on my mind this morning.

I shake my head to clear it, then force a calm face and look up at Snape. “I believe my potion is nearly done, Professor.”

“Is it then?” Snape looks at me skeptically and pulls back his sleeves. “Let’s have a look then.” He picks up my ladle and goes to stir the teal-turquoise liquid in my cauldron.

“It’s a bit more teal than I would like,” I say quickly in my defense.

Snape looks at the cauldron with disappointment. He gives it a stir then sets the ladle down. “That’s because you left it to simmer just a moment too long,” he says slowly. Well, there goes my grade for today. “However, seeing as you are the only student who has managed to produce something I wouldn’t fear to administer to someone, I regrettably must give you full credit for today.”

Or, maybe not. “Thank you, sir,” I say calmly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that I enjoy his “praise.”

“Well done, Emma.” Hermione looks at me with mild surprise.

Snape walks away and heads toward the bench where a group of Slytherins is sitting.

“Not that I’m surprised you did well,” she quickly adds. “I’m just surprised that Snape actually seemed almost pleased.”

“He still insulted my potion,” I point out.

“At least he didn’t vanish yours before you were finished,” Harry says bitterly.

“What?”

“Just before he looked at your potion Snape came by and vanished my potion before I got the chance to add the final ingredient. He yelled at me for forgetting it, and instead of letting me finish, he just vanished my potion,” Harry explains slowly like you would talk to a toddler.

“Emma, are you alright? You’ve been zoned out all morning,” Hermione worries.

I force a half-smile. “Sorry I’m fine. Just finding it hard to concentrate. It seems like everyone is whispering about me every time I turn around.”

“Can’t imagine what that’s like,” Harry says sarcastically.

“It’s not a competition, Harry,” I snap. I open my mouth to instantly apologize, but Snape’s voice rings out over the class announcing that class is dismissed. I start packing up my potion kit and transfer my potion into a vial to leave on Snape’s desk.

Harry quietly packs up his stuff and heads out of the classroom quickly, leaving Ron and me to jog to catch up to him on our way to Divination. Hermione has ancient runes, so she has to head in the opposite direction from the rest of us.

We catch up to him and fall into step on either side of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” I say quietly.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says, dismissing my apology. “We’re both on edge.” And he just leaves it at that.

“And now we have to go see what kind of horrific future we have in store for us this year,” Ron grumbles as we climb the stairs up to the Divination tower.

“It’s not that bad, Ron. Professor Trelawney only predicted Harry’s death that one time, and it didn’t even come true. The grim he thought he was seeing was just Padfoot,” I remind him.

“She also predicted that Lavender’s rabbit would die.”

“Alright, fine. She’s made some terrible predictions. But maybe that’s just because the universe sends out stronger signals for the bad stuff, so it’s just easier to pick up on those,” I offer as we enter the classroom. There’s a hush over the room as we enter. Between Harry’s name being plastered across the Daily Prophet and my very public breakup last night in the common room, we’ve been the talk of nearly every place we’ve walked into. It’s officially starting to wear on me. “Can we sit in the back?”

“Please,” Ron says with relief. Although, I’m pretty sure his relief comes from not having to sit anywhere near Professor Trelawney rather than being able to hide from the whispers throughout the room.

We take a seat at a small round table in the back corner, and I reflexively search the room for Seamus, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Professor Trelawney walks into the classroom from her office and takes a sweeping glance around the room. Her eyes narrow on Dean, who is sitting at a table with Neville Longbottom rather than Seamus. “Mr. Thomas, where is Mr. Finnigan?” she asks in her usual airy tone.

Dean takes a nervous look at me in the corner of the room then looks back at Professor Trelawney. “He’s decided to drop Divination,” he says quietly.

I tense slightly. I should have seen that coming. Seamus only kept up with Divination because he liked having class with me, seeing as it was how we bonded in the first place. But, did he decide to drop before last night or after? I desperately hope it’s the latter. I’m not sure how I would feel if he dropped the class before we even broke up.

Professor Trelawney purses her lips for a moment. “That’s odd, I could have sworn I saw him on my class roster for this year.”

“He— it was a last-minute decision,” Dean says tactfully.

So, after our breakup. I guess that’s a positive.

“Ah, well, no matter. So this year, we’re going to be starting with dream interpretation…” Professor Trelawney says, jumping immediately into her lesson.

I catch her take a quick glance at me. Of course. She’s either made some sort of prediction, or she’s just really observant. Either way, I’m pretty sure she knows precisely why Seamus dropped this class. I don’t like the idea of the teachers having thoughts about my love life as well as my peers. 

The rest of Divination passes by pleasantly uneventfully. Without Seamus glaring at me from across the classroom, I’m able to focus at least slightly better on classwork. Also, despite how Ron and Harry feel about the class, Divination has always brought a sense of calm to me. I don’t know if I actually believe that certain events can be predicted— seeing people are so unpredictable and, therefore, so are their actions— but Divination can still help you gain insight as to how you’re feeling about a particular situation. It’s subjective. And so many of my courses have objective answers. You either get the incantation right or wrong, plants have specific properties that need to be memorized. If you add one drop more or less of dittany to a potion, it can be the difference between having your cauldron explode or producing a successful Wiggenweld Potion. But in Divination, most things can be justified with the proper reasoning.

So, when I walk into Defense Against the Dark Arts, I’m feeling slightly lighter. I take a seat next to Hermione and get my textbook and notebook out of my bag, setting it on the desk in front of me.

“How was Ancient Runes?” I ask Hermione.

“Fascinating. I can’t wait—”

There’s a high pitch throat clear from the front of the room as Umbridge brings the classes attention to her. She starts to talk about how our instruction on the topic of Defense Against the Dark Arts has been sorely lacking over the past four years and that she is there to remedy that situation, but I’m hardly listening. There’s something about the woman’s overly kind and high pitch tone that unsettles me. That and the fact that her robes look like the chalky pink stuff my grandparents gave me one summer when I had an upset stomach. Someone who wears that much pink has to be overcompensating for something. She goes on to tell us that we won’t be using magic in class, which gets my attention.

It also gets Harry’s. “What do you mean we won’t be using magic?” he blurts out.

“Students will raise their hands when speaking in my class,” Umbridge says sharply. “A theoretical knowledge of defensive magic should be sufficient to pass your exams—”

“Yes, but it won’t be sufficient if we’re going to be attacked!” Harry interrupts.

“Mr. Potter, who on Earth would attack you? And that’s the second time you’ve spoken out of turn. I won’t warn you again.”

I turn around in my seat to give Harry a sharp look, hoping that might get him to shut up and calm down. It doesn’t.

“Who would attack us? Voldemort!” he shouts. “He’s already killed someone and—”

“Detention, Mr. Potter!” Umbridge shouts shrilly. She clenches her fits at her sides as she composes herself. “I told you that I wasn’t going to warn you again. Students must raise their hands while speaking in my classroom. I also believe that it would be best if you were to go see Professor McGonagall. You are excused.”

I stare from Umbridge to Harry, who forcefully stands up and throws his bag over his shoulder before storming out of the classroom. I glance down and realize that he left his textbook behind, so I make a mental note to grab that once class is dismissed.

“Miss MacKenzie, eyes front,” Umbridge says, jerking my attention back to her.

Of course, she’s one of those teachers that already knows each and every student’s name.

Umbridge forces a broad smile and giggles slightly before continuing on as if nothing happened. She assigns us all to read the first four chapters of our textbooks and produce a comprehensive outline of each section to be turned in by the next class then sits at her desk at the front of the classroom.

Class goes by achingly slow, and only serves to put me back into the funk I’ve been in all day. Finally, Umbridge dismisses us so we can go to dinner. I pack up my stuff and the stuff Harry left behind, then throw my bag over my shoulder and follow Hermione out into the hallway. Hermione starts to go on a rant about Umbridge once we’re far enough away, but as we catch up to Seamus and Dean, I’m more focused on their conversation than on what Hermione is saying.

“I’m not crazy, Dean. Did you see the way she was looking at him when he stormed out of here?” Seamus growls.

“I just don’t see it, Seamus. She’s an affectionate person. You’ve never had a problem with how she acts around Ron, or me for that matter,” Dean says carefully. Bless Dean for trying to get him to see reason. Not that I think it will work. And even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. That ship has sailed, as it were.

“It’s different. I just know it. He’s too comfortable around her. They’re too comfortable with each other. You said for yourself that you saw her sleeping in his lap on the train here—”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you that,” Dean sighs.

“People who are ‘just friends’ don’t cuddle together,” Seamus spits.

“You don’t honestly think that she cheated on you—”

I abruptly stop outside of the Great Hall, suddenly no longer hungry.

“Emma…” Hermione says gently, placing a hand on my arm.

I shake my head furiously. “I’ll see you in the common room,” I say quickly, turning and rushing away before she and Ron can see the tears fall from my eyes.

Dammit.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

I should be stronger than this. I shouldn’t let Seamus get to me. I’ve already shed more tears than I should over that stupid boy. I just— I can’t help it. It’s not even the breakup that’s upsetting me this much. I mean, it’s upsetting, but honestly, I don’t think in the long run Seamus and I were going to be good fit. But still, we were close. I think it’s the fact that I can’t talk to him about what’s going on right now that’s bothering me the most. He knew more about me than any other person, including Harry and Hermione. He knew about my family. I’d talked with him about my mother and my brother. He knew about my unfortunate history with—

“Oof! Watch it. Oh, MacKenzie, it’s you,” a slow voice drawls.

I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was walking, so I was bound to walk right into some. And just my luck, I plow right into Draco Malfoy. I close my eyes for a second to compose myself before looking up at him. Did everyone have a growth spurt this summer? “I’m not in the mood Draco,” I say flatly before trying to sidestep him.

He steps in front of me, blocking my path. We’re in a tight hallway, so there’s not much I can really do to get around him. Great. Draco turns to Crabbe and Goyle, who are standing menacingly behind him. “Give me a moment. I’ll see you in the Great Hall.”

Crabbe and Goyle grunt before lumbering their way down the hallway, which is now mostly abandoned save for Draco and me.

Draco takes a step toward me, backing me up to the cold corridor wall. He flashes a smile, which is more charming than his normal menacing one. “So, I hear you’re officially on the market again.”

“Oh really? Because I thought that I was dating Harry now. That is the other rumor going around right now, isn’t it?” I say dryly.

“Ohhh, not very nice today, are we?”

“Draco, please, I’m really not in the mood. Can you just hit on me another time?” I plant a hand on his chest and try to push him back so I can get around him.

He doesn’t move and instead grabs my wrist. “Come on, you know how thrilled our parents would be if we got together.” He slowly trails his fingers up my arm to my elbow.

I suppress a shudder and decide that turning on the charm is probably the fastest way out of this predicament. It usually is. I sigh and trace a finger slowly down his chest as I look up at him through lowered lashes. “You make a good point,” I say, hoping my voice sounds breathy enough.

He leans forward, bracing himself on his forearm above my head on the wall behind me. Right where I want him. He continues to lean in, and I take the opportunity to duck and slip to the side.

“When will you learn, Draco? I’m never going to be interested.” I call as I turn to confidently walk down the corridor.

Once I turn the corner, I’m able to let my guard down, though. I lean back on the cold stone wall for just a moment to collect myself. Today had honestly been one of the worst school days to date, which didn’t give me much hope for how the rest of the year would go. Welcome to my O.W.L. year, I guess.


	7. Quidditch Trials

**CHAPTER 7**

**Quidditch Trials**

* * *

**GEORGE**

“You know, you deciding to take on Muggle Studies this year has really thrown a wrench in our plan to have Friday’s completely free,” Fred grumbles as I take a seat next to him at the Gryffindor table.

“I wasn’t aware that was our plan.” I shrug and start to load my plate with food.

“How did you even get into the class anyway? You didn’t take the O.W.L. for it.”

“I’m not taking it for N.E.W.T. credit.”

“Then what is the point?” Fred asks as he loads his place full of food as well.

I shrug again. “Dad’s always going on about muggles. I thought it would be interesting to learn more about them.” I look up from my plate and see Emma walk through the door with Ron and Harry in tow. She’d changed out of her school robes into a pair of ripped jeans and a jumper that was so big on her it looked like it was her dad’s rather than hers. I smile and wave them over to join us.

Fred follows my gaze and gives me a knowing smirk. “So your decision to take Muggle Studies this year had nothing to do with a certain auburn-haired witch who spends a lot of time with her muggle grandparents?”

I ignore him and turn my attention back to my food. It had definitely factored into the decision, but I wasn’t going to give Fred the satisfaction of confirming his suspicion. It wasn’t the only reason. I did want to learn more about muggles, especially how they play jokes and pranks, you know, for research. The fact that I would learn more about a big part of Emma’s life, therefore giving me more things to talk to her about, well, that was just a bonus.

Emma and Ron settle in at the table across from Fred and me, followed shortly by Harry and Hermione.

“Excited for trials, Harry?” Fred asks.

Harry sighs and starts to load food onto his plate. “Unfortunately, I won’t be there.”

“Harry went and got himself detention,” Hermione chastises.

“Again,” Emma adds.

“Are you going to come to watch?” I ask, trying to hide the hopefulness in my voice.

“You’re helpless,” Fred mutters under his breath.

“No, I was going to try to get some studying done in the library,” she says as she pokes at the potpie on her plate idly.

“Really? I would have thought that you would want to support Ronnikens,” Fred says.

Emma looks up from her plate. “What?”

“Ron’s trying out for the team,” I say.

Emma’s face lights up as she looks at Ron. “Ron! You didn’t say anything about trying out for the team. That’s brilliant!” She throws her arms around his neck.

Ron’s ears go pink. “Get off, Emma,” he says as he squirms out of her grip.

She smiles and lets go. “Well, now I have to go.”

“You don’t have to. It’s not a big deal,” Ron mumbles as he pushes his food around, much like Emma was.

“Of course, it is. Also, you should eat more. You’ll need your strength,” Emma encourages.

“Maybe you should take your own advice, Em. You’ve barely eaten all week,” Harry says.

“What are you talking about? I’m eating the same amount that I always do,” she protests.

“Harry’s right. You normally give Ron a run for his money food-wise, which is impressive since you’re so tiny,” I tease.

“I’m not tiny,” she says feebly. “I’m fine, ok?”

The smile falls from my face as I watch her shrink into herself. I’ve joked several times before about how tiny she is, and she usually gets all fiery and defensive about it, even though it doesn’t actually bother her. But this time, I think I actually struck a nerve. I nudge her under the table with my foot, which forces her to look up, and offer her an apologetic smile. 

She smiles sadly back at me before taking a small bite of her food.

An awkward silence falls over everyone as we eat (or push our food around in Ron and Emma’s case) until eventually, Harry gets up.

“I have to get to detention,” he says miserably. “Fill me in on the trials back in the common room?”

“You got it, mate,” Fred says brightly. “We should probably get going, too.”

Everyone starts to get up except for Emma.

“Are you coming?” Hermione asks her gently.

She looks up, startled for a moment. “Hmm? Oh, yea, sorry I was just— yea, I’m coming.” She stands up and forces a smile. She links arms with Ron as we begin to walk down to the Quidditch Pitch. “Come on, Ron. You’re going to do great.”

Fred and I head for the locker room to change into out Quidditch uniforms while the girls head up to the stands. I take a quick glance at Ron, who looks like he’s about ready to vomit. I sigh and toss a balled-up sock at him.

“Oi, what’s that for?” he says indignantly, catching the sock quickly before it hits him in the face.

“See, you’re going to do just fine. You caught that, and you weren’t even paying attention when I threw it.”

“Yea and quaffles are much bigger,” Fred adds. “Just don’t fall off your broom.”

I try not to roll my eyes. Fred isn’t exactly the best when it comes to comforting someone. To his credit, though, Ron offers a nervous smile and stands up with determination, so, our combination of encouragement and jokes seems to have done the trick.

I grab my Cleansweep Five and head out to the pitch, Fred and Ron trailing behind me. Angelina is standing in the center of the pitch surrounded by the rest of the team. I give Ron a little shove toward them, then mount my broom and kick off the ground, soaring into the air. Angelina wanted everyone here to see how a prospective new teammate would get along with the whole team. Still, in reality, she doesn’t need beaters for keeper tryouts. She doesn’t even seem to have the bludgers with her. I don’t particularly mind, though. Flying is one of my favorite things in the world. It’s freeing.

I do a quick lap around the field and stop in the air near the stands where the girls are sitting. Ginny’s joined them now, as well as several other Gryffindor girls, which is odd because we usually don’t have this big of a turnout for our trials or practices. Fred joins me in the air, narrowly missing knocking me off my broom as he skids to a halt next to me.

“We’ve got quite the audience, Freddie,” I say, nodding my head toward the gaggle of girls in the stands.

“I would say they’re here because of our dashing good looks, but I saw Cormac McLaggen down there.” Fred rolls his eyes.

“Really? God, I hope he doesn’t make it onto the team. That guy is an idiot.”

Behind us, everyone on the ground starts soaring into the air. McLaggen heads to one goal post while Ron heads to the other.

“They clearly don’t think so,” Fred says with a nod to all of the girls in the stands who got up and moved closer to get a better look at McLaggen.

I take a glance at Emma and notice her look at the other girls fawning over McLaggen and roll her eyes. I smile. “Not her.”

She gets up and heads to the railing at the front of the stands and shouts, “Good luck, Ron!”

Hermione joins in from her seat a few rows back and cheers for Ron loudly.

“Careful girls, you’re going to give him a big head,” Fred shouts.

“First, he’s made Prefect, and now he’s got his own personal cheer squad. Where’s the love for us?” I joke, flying closer to the stands.

“You two are already on the team,” Emma points out. “Besides, the last thing the two of you need is someone stroking your already overinflated egos.”

“Ouch!” Fred says as he flies closer. “That hurts, MacKenzie.”

Angelina blows a whistle to get everyone’s attention. “Weasleys! Stop flirting and get over here for some drills!”

“Yea, George, stop flirting with MacKenzie and pay attention,” Fred says with a wink at Emma. “Coming, my beautiful captain, ma’am!” He flies off before I can get a good swipe at him.

“Ignore him,” I tell Emma, hoping the setting sun hides the flush creeping up my neck right now.

“I usually do.”

I flash a shy smile before flying after Fred.

“You’re just asking for me to punch you in the face, aren’t you?” I accuse him as I come to a stop next to him.

He flashes an innocent grin. “Just trying to help things along. Emma didn’t seem to mind the idea of you flirting with her.”

“I was acting the same as I always do. Joking around, just like you were.”

“Except, I was flirting.” He must have noticed my hands grip my broom slightly tighter, because he quickly adds, “Oh, don’t worry, mate. I won’t do anything. She’s just fun to flirt with. Besides, it wasn’t me she was flirting back with anyway.”

Fred makes a quick dive down and pulls out of it just as quickly. I copy the movement, adding a loop at the end of the maneuver.

“Show off,” Fred scoffs.

By now, the chasers are starting to run their drills, trading off trying to score goals on either Ron or McLaggen.

I come to a stop near the stands, hovering far enough away that the girls won’t be able to hear Fred and I talking. “Do you actually think she was? Flirting back, I mean.”

“So, you admit that you were flirting?”

I speed forward to knock into his side, but he pulls up and makes a loop to avoid me.

“Nice try, Georgie. Also, yea, she was flirting. She flirts with you all the time.”

“That’s not flirting. That’s just how she is. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Also, every time it’s been McLaggen’s turn to block a goal, she’s been watching you.”

I take a quick glance behind me and see Emma intently watching Ron. Sure enough, once Ron blocks a goal and Katie and Angelina start to speed toward the other end of the pitch, Emma’s gaze flicks to me. I take my hand off my broom for a moment and give her a small wave. Of course, Fred decides that this would be the opportune moment to knock me off my broom and smashes into my side.

“Payback,” he says mischievously before speeding away down the pitch.

I chase after him for a few laps, making the occasional loop and turn to try to get the upper hand on him, until Angelina shouts at us.

“Will you two stop it! Your shenanigans are making a mockery out of my practice!”

Fred speeds up and hovers on one side of her, and I come up to hover on the other side.

“Sorry, Madame Captain, sir.”

“Yes, sorry, your excellency.”

“Won’t happen again.”

“Probably going to happen again.”

We both speed off again just as Angelina goes to take a swipe at us. We come to a stop by the stands again, and I steal another glance at Emma. She’s flushed from laughing and has a bright smile on her face.

I lock eyes with her and grin before pretending to almost fall off my broom.

Emma shakes her head but continues to laugh. “You’re absolutely shameless,” she shouts.

I smirk and fly closer. “You’re laughing, though, aren’t you?”

Her smile turns shy as she crosses her arms on top of the railing and leans slightly forward. “Yea, I am.”

And I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve seen her laugh in nearly a week, which is saying something since she’s almost always laughing.

I soften my smile and lean my arm on the railing, matching her pose.

She holds my gaze for a moment, then her attention flicks behind me. She straightens quickly and tries to peek around me. “Hang on, move. McLaggen—”

“Oh, I see how it is,” I say with exaggerated disappointment, partially to mask my real disappointment.

“No, not like that,” she says with exasperation, swatting me on the arm. “Definitely not like that.” Her voice is more reassuring this time.

Is she trying to hint at something, or is she just making sure that I know McLaggen isn’t her type? What even is her type?

“I think Katie just got shot past him,” she says, trying to look around me again.

I turn around and watch as Katie high-fives Angelina with a disgruntled McLaggen in the background. “Looks like it.”

“Which means, if Ron can block this next shot, he’s on the team!” Emma’s face lights up again as she turns her attention to Ron’s end of the field.

Katie and Angelina head down the field, tossing the quaffle back and forth. Ron hovers in front of the central goal post with a look of nauseated focus on his face. Emma grips my arm nervously as Angelina aims the quaffle for the left goal post. I glance down at her hand on my arm but try not to overthink it. She’s an affectionate person. It doesn’t mean anything.

Ron makes a dive for it and—

“He did it!” Emma exclaims, shaking my arm excitedly. She smiles widely at me then turns to share the excitement with Hermione and Ginny.

I smile to myself as I watch the three of them hug each other, then fly to the middle of the pitch to talk with Angelina.

“Whatcha thinking, Cap?” Fred asks, flying up on the other side of Angelina.

Angelina sighs. “I have some thoughts. Katie! Alicia! Team huddle on the ground in two minutes. Cormac and Ron, you can go get changed and wait in the locker room. We should be in there shortly,” she shouts before diving toward the ground.

I stay in the air for a moment and watch Ron touch down and shakily get off his broom.

“Looks like McLaggen is moving in on your girl.” Fred points at McLaggen, who takes a quick lap and makes a show of flirting with the girls as he does. He pays particular attention to Emma, which makes sense. She’s easily the most attractive girl in her year.

“She’s not my girl. Also, she doesn’t appear to be interested.”

McLaggen waves and shoots a wink at her, but instead of swooning like the majority of girls watching our practice, Emma rolls her eyes, turns to Ginny and Hermione, and mimes gagging. She doesn’t even wait for McLaggen to be gone.

God, she’s brutal.

I take a dive and hit the ground, followed shortly by Fred.

“What’s up, Ange?” Katie says, hitting the ground next to me.

Angelina turns around to see that Ron and McLaggen are gone, then turns back to us and lowers her voice. “Alright, I have my own thoughts, but I want to know what you think.”

“Well, Ron certainly beat McLaggen for the number of saves,” Alicia says hesitatingly.

“But he just doesn’t seem to have a lot of confidence,” Katie pipe up. “McLaggen may have missed that last shot, but he seems to be more sure of himself—”

“More like full of himself,” Fred counters. “The guy is a prat.”

“Ron would make the better teammate,” I offer. “But, for the record, I would die before I admit that I said that. ”

“No, you’re right,” Angelina muses. “Cormac is cocky, and I’m not sure we can handle that much testosterone-fueled ego seeing as we’ve already got you two.” She gives Fred and me a pointed look.

Fred shrugs casually.

“And I think with a bit of training we can get Ron to be more confident. Are we all in agreement?”

All of us nod.

“Alright, it looks like we’ve got a new keeper. Merlin, save us. Three Weasleys on one team…” Angelina shakes her head and heads to the locker room to break the news.


	8. Evanesco

**CHAPTER 8**

**Evanesco**

* * *

**EMMA**

I stare down at the copy of the Daily Prophet that was just delivered to me. Unfortunately, it was the only bit of mail that I got this morning, but the headline splashed across the front page is enough to distract me from that fact, at least for a moment anyway.

**Dolores Umbridge Named New Hogwarts High Inquisitor**

I pass the article to Hermione, who reads it aloud.

“What the hell even is a ‘high inquisitor’ anyway?” Ron asks once Hermione is done reading. 

“Back in the middle ages, an inquisitor was someone tho went around investigating for the Catholic Church to search for heretics. It went on for centuries,” Hermione explains.

“Heretics?” Harry asks.

“Someone who contradicts the teachings of the Church. Or, in this case, the Ministry.” 

“Lovely,” I say sarcastically. “This is going to interrupt our classes, isn’t it?”

“You know, Emma, you’re starting to sound like Hermione with all the worrying about classes and studying,” Ron says in between bites of his omelet.

“This year is important, Ron. The results from these tests affect our entire futures. Our careers.” 

“We’re fifteen! How do you already know what you want to do?”

“I don’t. Which is why I need to do well on all of my exams so that I can keep my options open.” I don’t add that I have to at least try to live up to the standards James set. I may not be able to get ten O.W.L.s— I’m only in nine classes after all— but that doesn’t mean I can’t at least try to get an ‘outstanding’ in the ones that I am taking. I know Ron would understand that, but I’ve never really talked about James to my friends except in passing, so I don’t want to open myself up to any questions. 

And, studying is the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down right now. It’s been a week since I last heard any news about Grandpa. The Umbridge news distracted me from that for a moment, but now it’s all I can think about. 

I push my plate away, suddenly no longer hungry, and stand up from the table. “I’ll see you guys in Binn’s class. I have to send a letter.” 

***

I was right about Umbridge causing a problem. Out of my nine classes this week, Umbridge was there to monitor eight of them at least once, twice in the case of Divination. The only class she didn’t have to watch was her own, which, out of all of my classes, is the one that should be monitored. She isn’t actually teaching us anything. We spend the entire classroom period reading and copying passages out of the textbook. She can’t seem to answer any questions about the material, either. I checked. One day, I feigned confusion about a particular passage so I could ask her to clarify it, but all she said was to copy the passage again, and it should start to make sense.

And, as if Umbridge herself wasn’t enough of a distraction, Harry has been making things worse. I love the boy, but he really can’t keep his temper in check. Twice this week, he lashed out at Umbridge, each time landing himself one week of detention, which is where he is right now. And Ron and Hermione are off doing their rounds around the castle as part of their Prefect duties, leaving me alone in the common room to study. It’s a Friday, so I should probably be taking a break. It’s not as if Ginny isn’t sitting a few feet away from me playing a game of exploding snap with a few of the girls in her year. I just need the distraction studying provides right now. I still haven’t heard from Grandma yet. I sent her an owl on Monday, and she still hasn’t written back yet. I know she’s probably busy staying with Grandpa, but I can’t help but assume that no news is bad news. If there was good news to report, she would have written to me by now.

Slowly, the common room begins to empty as people start to go to bed. I check the time. It’s nearly midnight, and Harry still isn’t back from detention yet. He’s been gone nearly six hours now. At this rate, Ron and Hermione may beat him back, and they never get back until at least 1 am on Friday nights.

Finally, once the last pair of people head up to the common room, leaving me alone, Harry climbs through the portrait hole. He plops down in a chair next to me and sighs. “What are you still doing up?”

“Waiting for you.” I close my Charms book and look at him. “Harry, are you ok? You’ve been gone for over six hours.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says quickly. “Are you ok? You’ve got that little crease in between your eyes. You haven’t been studying the entire time I’ve been gone, have you?”

“Ron and Hermione went on their rounds, and you were in detention. I figured I might as well get something done. Are you sure you’re ok? You look really pale.” I look down and see Harry clutching the back of his right hand. I start to reach out for him, and he jerks his hand away.

“I told you I’m fine, Emma,” he snaps.

“Give me your hand,” I demand.

Reluctantly, he removes his left hand from his right and reveals the bloody wound.

I gasp and take his hand in mine and read the words etched into his hand: I must not tell lies. “This is in your own handwriting,” I notice. “Hold still.” I fish my wand out of the bag at my feet and roll up the sleeves of my cardigan.

“What are you doing?” He asks tentatively.

“Well, I know I’m not going to be able to convince you to go to the hospital wing, so I’m healing your hand.” I gingerly hold his hand still and wave my wand over it. “Episkey.” As I wait for the blood starts to stop flowing, I dig in my bag again for my handkerchief and the teacup I’ve been using to practice transfiguration spells on. I point my wand at the cup and fill it with water, then dip my handkerchief in it. “Sorry, I don’t know a wound cleansing spell yet, so I’ll have to do this the muggle way.”

“It’s fine, really,” Harry protests weakly, but doesn’t jerk his hand away.

“It’s not fine. I could hex that bubblegum bitch,” I growl.

He laughs. “I haven’t heard that one yet. But honestly, I can handle it. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Why are you worried about me? I’m not the one being tortured.” I dab at his wound a little too hard, and he winces. “Sorry. I think it’s ok to bandage now.” I pick up my wand again and whisper, “ferula manus,” as bandages fly out of the end of my wand and wrap themselves around Harry’s hand. “There, all set,” I say, releasing his hand so I can tuck my stuff back into my bag.

He flexes his hand slightly. “It doesn’t hurt as much. How do you know how to do that? We haven’t been taught healing magic yet.”

I smile. “You’re always injuring yourself. I was bound to pick up a few things from Madame Pomfrey.”

“You’re too good to me,” he says, shaking his head. “Look, Em, I can tell that something is bothering you. And don’t try to pass it off as school stress; I know you better than that.” He hesitates, then reaches his hands forward and takes my hand. “Just talk to me.”

I stare down at our hands and blink furiously. Dammit, Harry. He never initiates contact with me like this. That’s always been my thing. He doesn’t shy away from me like Ron does, but he never initiates it. The gesture is enough to make me want to cry, but I can’t. If I start, I’m afraid that I won’t stop.

Luckily, I’m saved from answering as Hermione and Ron climb through the portrait hole.

I check my watch. 1 am; right on time. I force a smile and take my hands from Harry’s, rubbing them nervously on my leggings.

“Hermione, Ron, there you are,” I say with relief.

“Emma, I thought you would have gone to bed,” Hermione says.

“I was waiting up for Harry. He only just got back.”

“You mean that woman kept you in detention for over six hours?” Hermione says, outraged. “Oh, my gosh, Harry, what happened to your hand?”

I don’t wait for Harry to answer. “She’s been torturing him, that’s what.”

“Torturing? You have to go to Dumbledore with this!” Ron urges.

“Dumbledore hasn’t so much as looked at me since I got here. I don’t think he’s going to be able to do anything,” Harry argues.

I look at him carefully. “Professor McGonagall then.”

“No. I can handle it. Umbridge would just be winning if I reported her.”

“This isn’t some game!” Hermione snaps. “That foul gargoyle making our lives miserable. She’s interrupting all of our classes, she isn’t teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“I know. You should have seen the way she treated Professor Trelawney in class the other day. It was horrible. She even had the audacity to try to tear Professor McGonagall apart,” I say bitterly.

“At least McGonagall didn’t seem phased by it,” Ron offers.

“True, Professor McGonagall is one tough nut, but still, at this rate, we’re not going to pass our O.W.L. Not without a competent teacher. And if she keeps interrupting out other classes, we’re not going to pass those either. I mean, we’re supposed to be onto vanishing things in Transfiguration already, but we couldn’t even get through the lecture properly with all of Umbridge’s ‘hep hmm’s.” I do my best impression of the foul woman’s high pitched throat clears.

Ron shutters. “That was scarily accurate.”

“It haunts my nightmares.”

“What we need is a competent teacher. Someone to tutor us outside of class,” Hermione suggests.

“Yea, but who? None of the other Professors are going to risk crossing Umbridge” Ron points out.

Hermione thinks for a moment, then gives a pointed look at Harry.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But Harry—”

“Hermione, no! McGonagall told me to keep a low profile this year, and holding secret tutoring sessions is the exact opposite of that.”

“So is blowing up in class and landing yourself in detention for the second week in a row,” I argue.

“I’m not qualified!”

“You’re more qualified than that Ministry cow! She can’t even answer a simple question about grindylows!” I whisper harshly, trying to keep my voice low as to not wake up anyone upstairs.

“Emma, I said no,” Harry snaps.

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, but Harry is already out of his seat and halfway up the stairs to his dormitory.

***

Ron groans and hits his forehead against the table. “I hate this class. Why didn’t I just drop it and take something else?”

“Ron, can you keep it down? I’m trying to focus,” I say without looking up.

I’ve been staring at this passage on vanishing spells for over an hour and still haven’t gotten close to understanding it. Umbridge finally moved on to harassing other classes, so yesterday, Professor McGonagall was actually able to finish her lecture on vanishing spells this week. However, they’re complicated. The only person in class that was actually able to vanish their snail was Hermione, so Professor McGonagall dismissed us early and told us to work on them on our own and come back fresh on Friday for class. Helpful in theory, except I’ve been trying for two days, and I still can’t manage to make anything vanish completely. I’ve even been trying on a teacup instead of a snail, hoping that an inanimate object might be easier than a living creature. No dice.

“This assignment is stupid,” Ron continues complaining. “Emma, can I just copy yours? Please? I’ll do anything you want.”

I sigh and look up from my book at Ron’s pouting face. “You know that face only working on Hermione. I would let you at least look at mine, but it’s a dream journal. It would be suspicious if we both were having the same dreams every night.”

Ron groans and drops his head to the table again.

“Just make up some reoccurring dream to put for each night. That’s what I did.”

“That’s brilliant. Wait, I thought you actually took this rubbish seriously.”

“I do. I just haven’t been sleeping well, so I don’t really have many dreams to log. So I’m filling in with a reoccurring dream I had as a child about chasing after a unicorn.”

“A unicorn?” Ron teases.

“I was five,” I say defensively. “But yes. I just write about the unicorn and talk about how it could mean that I’m yearning after my childhood or something like that. Just write about that reoccurring tap-dancing spider dream you had back in our third year and say something about your fear of spiders relating to your fear of O.W.L.s. Now, can I get back to my work?”

“Hang on, how do you—” Ron shoots a look at Harry, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet this evening. It’s the first night in 3 weeks that he hasn’t had detention with Umbridge, so he’s taking advantage of the time to catch up. “You told her?!”

Harry looks up, embarrassed. “Uhh, no?”

Ron’s ears flush red. “Traitor.” He gets up and shoves his homework into his bag. “I have to meet Hermione for our rounds.”

I smirk and look down at my book to prevent myself from laughing. At least until Ron’s gone.

Once Ron storms out the portrait hole, Harry and I both burst into a fit of laughter.

““I can’t trust you with anything,” Harry scolded, still laughing.

“It just slipped out! Honest!”

“I told you that it was a secret.” Harry shakes his head. “Oh well, he’ll get over it.”

“Yea, I’m sure spending a few hours alone with Hermione will put him in a better mood,” I say with a knowing smile.

“They have been getting along better, haven’t they?” Harry yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “I think I”m going to turn in early. Don’t stay up too late?”

“Alright, dad. I won’t,” I tease.

He rolls his eyes and packs up his stuff. “I’m just worried about you, alright? And I know you don’t want to talk about it, so I’m not going to push you on it. Just… at least try to get some sleep.” He gently squeezes my shoulder before heading up the stairs.

I go back to staring at the chapter on vanishing spells until the common room has cleared out. I sigh and pull out the teacup from my bag and set it in front of me. “Alright, you can do this, MacKenzie,” I whisper to myself before waving my wand and saying, “Evanesco.”

I stare at the teacup. Nothing. And by nothing, I mean nothing happened, and it’s still there.

I roll my sleeves up and try again. “Evanesco.” Nothing. “Evanesco. EVANESCO.” I stop and hold my breath as the handle of the teacup starts to disappear. But that’s it. I swear and throw the cup against the nearest wall.

“Oi! What did that teacup do to you, MacKenzie?”

I jump and whirl around in my chair. “George! Sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was in here.”

“Clearly.” He smirks and walks over to the spot on the floor where my partially vanished teacup lies shattered. He waves his wand over it and wordlessly mends it before picking it up. “I was just coming down to grab a book I left down here. So, why are you throwing teacups against walls?”

“I was trying to make it disappear.”

“Well, I guess throwing it across the room is one way to make it disappear,” he jokes, setting it back down in front of me.

I let out a frustrated sigh and bury my head in my arms on the table.

He takes a seat next to me and nudges me with his elbow. “What’s going on, Emma?”

I pick my head up and look at him. “I’ve been trying for two days to get this vanishing spell to work, but all I’ve managed to do is make the handle disappear.”

“Why are you practicing on a teacup? I feel like I remember learning this on snails.”

“I thought an inanimate object might be easier. I was just tired of seeing a partially vanished snail. I felt bad for it,” I admit.

He smiles softly. “It doesn’t hurt the snails, you know.”

“How do you know? You’re not the snail,” I say defensively.

“Good point. Do you want help?” George asks.

I look at him with surprise.

“Transfiguration was one of my three O.W.L.s. I’m pretty good at it,” he says with a shrug.

“Uhh, yea. Ok. Thanks. I’m just not sure what I’m doing wrong.”

“Try again,” he encourages.

I pick up my wand again and wave it over the teacup. “Evanesco.” And nothing. “Ugh!”

George gently takes the wand out of my hand and holds my hands to prevent me from throwing the teacup against the wall again. “Ok, first, breathe.”

I glare at him for a moment, then take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out. The tension in my shoulders relaxes slightly, and I look down at my hands, which he still has grasped in his.

He quickly lets go. “Better?”

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. “I just— Sorry. I’m just so frustrated with everything that’s going on. It’s only three weeks into the school year, and I already feel like I’m going to explode. This year is hard enough without Umbridge making all of my classes miserable. I don’t know if I can handle it all.” I keep the bit about Grandpa to myself. 

“This year is tough. I remember everyone in my year had lost the plot by Christmas.”

“Gee, helpful,” I say sarcastically.

“But,” he adds, “if anyone can get through it, it’s you. You’re brilliant, Emma.”

I give him a shy smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, try again,” he says, handing me my wand back.

I grip my wand tightly and tentatively point it at the teacup.

“Hold on, try loosening your grip. Here,” he slowly wraps his hand around mine on the wand and repositions my hand. “This way, you don’t have to move your arm as much to get the movement right.”

“Ok,” I whisper, starting to feel acutely aware of how close he is. 

“And when you do the movement, try to move a bit smoother.” He guides me through the squiggly wand movement. “Like that.”

I nod slowly, unsure of how to make my mouth say anything. It has either gotten significantly warmer in here all of a sudden, or I’m blushing like mad. I sincerely hope it’s just the first one. I turn my head and look at George. He flashes me a small lop-sided smile, and I swear my stomach almost does a flip. What the hell?

“Want to give it another try?” he asks, letting go of my hand and sitting back in his chair.

“Sure,” I manage. I let out a long breath and focus my attention on the teacup. “Evanesco.” I wave my wand in the movement George guided me through, and sure enough, the cup slowly disappears. I let out a small squeal.

“Told you, you’re brilliant.”

I forget myself for a minute and throw my arms around George’s neck in excitement. “Oh, thank you!”

He chuckles before slowly wrapping his arms around my back, returning the hug. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs into my hair.

I let myself stay like this for just a moment until I realize what I’m doing. I quickly let go and back away. “Sorry. I got excited.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not complaining. I’m glad I could help. But you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Vanishing spells are some of the hardest spells in the O.W.L. Year. It’s ok if you don’t get them right away.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I start to pack up my stuff, letting my hair fall into my face to hide the blush on my cheeks. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. I’ll see you.”

“Good night. Sleep well.”

“You, too,” I whisper before heading up the stairs to my dorm. I probably won’t be able to sleep, though, because now, in addition to worrying about classes and Grandpa, I’m going to be wondering why George Weasley is suddenly making me feel all tingly inside.


	9. In the Kitchens

**CHAPTER 9**

**In the Kitchens**

* * *

**EMMA**

It’s officially been three weeks and five days since I last heard any news about Grandpa. I didn’t even realize so much time had passed, but when I looked at the calendar last night to mark when my next Charms assignment was due, I realized how long it had been. It’s already the end of September. It’s been over a month since Grandpa had a stroke. A month with no change, no news.

I head down to the common room late Saturday morning, well after breakfast was over. I’d been up half the night with worry once I realized how long it had been, finally drifting into a dreamless sleep around 4 am. I’d expected Hermione to wake me for breakfast, as she always did, but I guess she noticed that I haven’t been sleeping and decided to let me sleep in. Bless her, because I’m exhausted. No one ever talks about how exhausting it truly is pretending like everything is ok.

“Oh, you’re finally up!” Hermione says cheerily. She’s sitting in an oversized chair by the fire knitting in the otherwise empty common room.

“Where is everyone?”

“Harry and Ron are at Quidditch practice, and I think everyone else is outside taking advantage of the sunny weather.”

“Why are you up here all by yourself then?”

“I was waiting for you,” she says like it was painfully obvious. “I also wanted to get some knitting done. Do you want to help?”

“No, I was going to—”

“If you say you’re going to the library, I will put a full body-bind on you and drag you outside myself,” she says sternly.

I gape at her. “Hermione, that is no way for a Prefect to talk.”

She rolls her eyes and sets aside the lumpy hat she’s knitting for a house-elf who won’t end up accepting or wearing it. “Look, I know you’re stressed about exams— I am, too —but there’s no sense in working yourself to the bone.”

“I’m not going to the library,” I promise, even though that is 100% where I was going to go. I drop my bag behind a chair and make a split-second decision. “I was going to go sneak down to the kitchens since I missed breakfast.”

“Oh! I’ll go with you. I want to give away some of these hats that I’ve been—”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to be that long,” I say quickly. “Go ahead and go outside. I’ll meet you out there soon. I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione asks, her eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Yea. I can bring the hats down and give them to Dobby and the other elves. I’ll see you later.” I walk over and pick up the pile of tiny hats before dashing through the portrait hole.

I speed walk, nearly run, down the dozens of staircases down to the basement, checking over my shoulder every so often to make sure Hermione isn’t following me. She seemed suspicious when I rushed out of the common room as fast as I did. Luckily, I make it down to the portrait hiding the entrance of the kitchens without running into anyone. I tickle the pear on the bowl of fruit, and the portrait swings open, revealing the door. I walk through and am instantly greeted by the smell of roasted chicken and treacle tart, and the sound of several Hogwarts house-elves biding me ‘good morning’ and asking ‘is there anything we can get you, ma’am?’ I politely decline their offers of food and scan the room for the real reason I came down to the kitchens.

“Miss Emmy!” a tiny voice squeaks.

I’d recognize that voice anywhere. I turn around and instantly drop to my knees as the house-elf runs up and throws her thin arms around my neck. “Penny!” I scoop her up into my arms, hugging her tight. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘Miss’?”

“Habit,” Penny says against my hair.

I let her go, and she hops off my lap. I take a look at her and notice she’s wearing a familiar-looking lumpy green hat over her short grey hair. “I see Dobby has been sharing Hermione’s hats with you.”

“Yes, Dobby has been. I thought it matches the dress you got me for Freedom Day last year.”

I smile. ‘Freedom Day’ is what we call the say I accidentally set her free when I was three. Dad didn’t mind, though. He hated having a house elf enslaved to him, but Penny had been left to him in his grandparent’s will, and he knew how difficult it would have been for a free elf, so we kept Penny on. Until that day, anyway. I had been so intent on someone playing dress-up with me, but James was busy and “too old to play games like that anymore”, so I roped Penny into it, not understanding that if I gave her clothes that she would be set free. The terms of a house elf’s enslavement wasn’t exactly a topic Dad could have explained to me at such a young age.

When Dad came into my room and saw Penny wearing one of my tiaras and a pair of gloves, she tried to say that it wouldn’t have to count, she would still stay on as out house-elf, but Dad refused. Three-year-old me was heartbroken and begged to let Penny stay, so Dad said that Penny could stay, but only as a free elf with a salary. From then on, Penny was like a nanny to me. She filled the “Mom” void, at least a little bit. And when I started at Hogwarts four years ago, Penny came with me and got a job in the kitchens.

“It matches nicely,” I tell her with a smile. “I have more hats from Hermione. I’ve tried telling her that the elves don’t want to be free.”

“Tis ok. Penny knows Miss Hermione means well.” Penny clasps my hand between hers. “I also knows Emmy didn’t come down to the kitchens just to deliver hats. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I force a smile. “I just realized I hadn’t been to visit since the term started. I missed my Penny.” 

“I misses my Emmy, too. But, you should knows by now that you can’t hide behind smiles with me. Come sit. Penny makes tea, and we talk.” She pulls me to my feet with surprising force and leads me over to a table in the corner.

“Penny, you’re starting to slip into the third person again,” I point out gently. It was one of the first things Dad worked with her on when we freed her, talking in the first person rather than in the third. He thought it might help her stop considering herself as a slave.

Penny lets out a groan and smacks her palm to her forehead. “Tis Dobby. I has been trying to get him to use ‘I’ and ‘me,’ but he’s not picking it up as quick as me and has me slipping back into old habits.”

“Did someone say Dobby? Oh! Emma MacKenzie! Dobby is happy to see you, ma’am.” Dobby pops up seemingly out of nowhere, making me jump slightly.

“Hello, Dobby. How are you?” I ask.

“Dobby is—I is good, ma’am,” he corrects after a stern look from Penny. “Are those more hats from Miss Granger?” He points a finger ar the pile of hats I set on the bench next to me.

“Yes, they are. I promised her I would deliver them. Are you having any luck getting anyone to take them?”

Dobby shakes his head sadly. “No, Dobby has had no luck. But I is still trying. I is not giving up.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Hermione that.”

Dobby scoops the hats up into his arms. “Will Emma give Harry Potter Dob—my regards?”

I smile as he corrects himself. “Sure thing.” I give him a squeeze on the shoulder, and he runs off with determination. “He seems to at least be trying to correct himself,” I muse as Penny comes back with a mug of tea and a giant sandwich.

She tries to hand me the plate.

I shake my head. “It’s ok, I’m not hungry.”

Penny forces the plate into my hand. “Emmy looks like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. I make your favorite from when you was little.”

I sigh, pick up the peanut butter and honey sandwich, and look at her as I take a bite. She seems to be satisfied and moves to take a seat next to me on the bench.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong. I can tell you is upset. Is it that Umbridge woman? I hears that she’s awful and making things difficult,” Penny says with a protective note in her voice.

“No, it’s not her,” I say before taking another bite of my sandwich. “Well, yes, part of it’s her. But that I can handle. It’s—”

Penny takes the plate out of my hands, which have started to tremble, and sets it aside. She looks at me with her large kind eyes and squeezes my hands.

“It’s Grandpa. He’s sick, and he’s been in the hospital for over a month, and I haven’t heard any news in nearly just as long and—” I let out a choked sob as all of the emotion I’ve been stuffing down for the past month comes out at once.

“Oh, Emmy.” She stands on the bench and pulls me in for a hug. I cling tightly to her as the tears start to flow down my cheeks. “Tis ok, Emmy. Tis gonna be ok,” she shushes as she strokes my hair.

“It’s not just that. I’ve been trying to be strong, but I can’t do it anymore. On my first night here, Seamus and I got into a massive fight in front of everyone because he was convinced that I was cheating on him with Harry, which is absolutely ridiculous. So, of course, I dumped him. I don’t know what took me so long to break up with him anyway, but he was my closest confidant. I mean, he knew things about my life, like you and my family, that no one else knew and I just— And my classes are so much harder this year, and I’m not sure I can pass my O.W.L.s and—and—“ I let out another sob.

Penny just holds me and lets me cry for what seems like ages, murmuring reassurances and stroking my hair. Finally, as my sobs start to slow, she releases me. “What can I do?” she asks, cupping my face in her hand.

“MacKenzie, what are you doing down here?”

I whip my head around and see Fred and George standing in the middle of the kitchen, each of them holding a half-eaten pastry. “Shit!” I quickly turn to hide my face and furiously try to wipe my tears away with the sleeves of my jumper. “Thanks for the sandwich, Penny. I’ve got to go,” I whisper furiously before standing up. I keep my head down, not even bothering to say anything. There’s no point.

“Hey, Emma, is everything alright?” George asks, catching my arm as I brush past him.

“I’m fine. Just school stress. See you two later,” I mutter before basically running through the portrait hole.

* * *

**GEORGE**

I can’t seem to get the image of Emma’s tear-streaked face out of my head. I’ve never seen her so upset before. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry. Not once. Not even when Cedric Diggory died last year, and hell, even I nearly cried at the funeral. By the time Fred and I got back to the common room, she seemed to be in better spirits. She was sitting in the corner of the common room, knitting with Hermione. I spent half the night trying to catch her eye, but she refused to even look my direction. I gave up when she eventually got up and went to bed, which was a lot earlier than everyone else. She seemed embarrassed that we saw her, even though she didn’t have a reason to be. Did she think we would have teased her or something? My instinct was to hold her until everything was ok, not make fun. But she ran off before I got the chance.

I try to push the image out of my head as Fred and I sneak back down the dormitory stairs to the common room. It’s almost 1 am, which means that the Prefects should be finishing their rounds soon, leaving the halls clear for about an hour before the professors start patrolling. That gives us just enough time to play our latest prank on Umbridge’s office.

“Do you have the dung bombs?” I whisper.

“Yup. Do you have the—” Fred cuts himself off as we both stop short at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought everyone would have gone to bed by now.”

I look at the figure sitting on the couch closest to the fireplace. The room is dimly lit, but I can still recognize the familiar shade of dark auburn hair. “It’s Emma. She went to bed hours ago, though.”

Fred gives me a look then sighs. “We can play the prank another night.”

“What? No, it’s fine. She won’t rat us out.”

“I know she won’t. But you should go talk to her, mate. She could use someone to talk to. You remember what her house-elf told us—”

I shake my head. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“You won’t know until you try,” Fred says before giving me a shove down the last two steps.

The noise makes Emma glance up. “Who’s the— Oh, George, it’s you.” She turns back to the fire and goes back to knitting.

I tentatively take a few steps forward. “What are you making?” I gesture at her lap.

“I’m not really sure. I think it’s a scarf,” Emma says, holding it up to inspect it. She still won’t look at me.

“Can I sit?” I blurt out.

She glances up and nods before continuing to knit.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before I try again. “That tip you gave us about the murtlap essence worked. We were finally able to fix the Skiving Snackboxes, so thanks. We weren’t sure that we would have figured it out without you.”

“You would have figured it out eventually. You’re both brilliant,” she says without looking up. “In your own way, at least.”

I turn to sit facing her. “Emma, can you look at me? I’m sorry that Fred and I intruded on you earlier in the kitchens, but you don’t need to be embarrassed. I understand. That house-elf told us—”

“You talked to Penny about me?” She finally looks directly at me, but instead of sad, she seems… well, pissed. “You don’t have the right to go prying into my personal life,” she snaps. She tosses her kitting aside and swings her legs down to get up.

“Wait, no! That’s not—” I grab her arm lightly to stop her.

She stops and glares down at me.

“After you left, that house-elf— Penny— she asked if we were friends of yours. When I said we were, she made us sit down to talk to us—” I explain in a rush. I take a deep breath and slowly slide my hand down her arm to take her hand.

Emma’s face softens, and she sits back down with a sigh. I let go of her hand as she crisscrosses her legs and faces me.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to pry. Penny seemed worried about you,” I continue.

“That sounds like her,” Emma murmurs. “She means well, but she doesn’t quite understand the idea of privacy.”

“Who is she?” I ask carefully.

Emma doesn’t look up and occupies herself by playing with the sleeves of her jumper. “She’s my house elf— my family’s house-elf. At least, she was until I accidentally freed her when I was three. But my dad kept her on as a nanny of sorts to take care of me. My dad’s side of the family comes from money. Like, a lot of money.”

I stare at her. “MacKenzie,” I say with realization. I knew the surname, everyone did. They were one of the prominent pureblood families, like the Malfoys or the Blacks. But I never thought that she was one of them. “You never talk about your family. I assumed—”

She laughs bitterly. “Do you hear Tonks bragging about her being related to the Blacks? When no one made the connection in my first year, I decided to keep it to myself. I didn’t want anyone judging me. My dad isn’t like the rest of his family. He married a muggle-born after all.”

“So, Penny is your house-elf…”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“She said your grandfather was sick. She didn’t really elaborate much past that. Do you want to talk about it?”

She finally looks up, and her eyes are shining with tears. She shakes her head and bites her lip.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to,” I say quickly.

“He had a stroke just before the term started. From what I understand, it’s when the blood flow to the brain stops for some reason,” she says softly, her voice thick. I’m glad she explained because I had no idea what a stroke was. “Your dad told me the night before we left for school. My dad had told him that day at the Ministry, I guess.”

“Is he alright?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything from my grandma since the first day of classes. She said he still hadn’t woken up yet, and— I’ve written her twice, and I haven’t gotten a response yet. It’s been well over a month now and—” She breaks off and stares down at her lap, her hair coming forward to hide her face.

I hear a faint sniffle and realize she’s started to cry. “Hey,” I tentatively reach forward and tilt her chin up, “you don’t need to hide your face from me.”

She sniffs again and tries to wipe the tears from her eyes with the sleeves of her jumper. “I don’t like people seeing me cry,” she admits.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I whisper.

“I’m so worried about him.”

I don’t quite know what to say, so I act on instinct. I gently wrap my arms around her and hope she doesn’t push me away.

She doesn’t. In fact, she clenches some of my shirt in her fist and pulls herself closer, curling into my side as she buries her face in my neck, which is not at all what I expected. I freeze, partially because I’m unsure of what to do next, but also because her breath is warm and shallow on my neck and so close that I can smell her conditioner. Strawberry, I think. Dammit, it feels nice having her in my arms, even though it isn’t exactly under the circumstances I would have imagined. I wrap my arms tighter around her, then, although I know I shouldn’t, I bury my face in her hair.

After a while, her breathing slows, and the sobs subside. I pick my head up and sweep some of the hair away from her face. Tucking it carefully behind her ear. “Tell me about your grandparents,” I whisper.

Emma smiles slightly and begins to tell me all about them. Her grandfather’s name is Joe, and he owns a muggle joke shop in a suburb just outside of London. Her grandmother, Mary, is retired, but she was a psychologist, which is like a muggle healer that specializes in the brain. Emma spent every summer with them from the time she was a baby and feels especially close to them because they’re all she has to feel close to her mother. She doesn’t move the entire time she talks. She just stays nestled into my side, her head tucked into my neck.

“When did she die, your mum?”

“Just after I was born. There were… complications,” Emma says softly.

“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure what else to say, so I just brush more of her hair away from her face.

She tilts her face up to look at me and gives a small smile, slightly sad but also kind. I look into her eyes and notice for the first time that there are little flecks of gold amidst the light brown. My hand is still hovering near her face, and I realize how easy it would be to just tilt her chin up a little bit farther and— but I shouldn’t. I can’t. She just spent the last hour crying in my arms. The last thing she probably wants right now is to be kissed.

Although, did her gaze just flick to my mouth? Could she maybe be thinking the same thing as I am right now? My breath catches, but then the moment is gone as she ducks her head to stifle a yawn.

I glance at my watch and notice the time. It’s nearly 3 am. We’d been sitting and talking for almost two hours. “We should probably get some sleep.”

“Probably.” She gently lifts her head up but doesn’t back away fully, her hand still resting on my chest, my arm still wrapped around her shoulders. “Thanks for… just thanks,” she says before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek.

It’s not an unusual gesture for her. She’s always been more affectionate than most people. But it makes my heart race all the same. Especially because she lingers longer than usual.

She keeps her face close to mine for a moment, and I think she’s about to lean in closer when I hear a soft creek that sounds like it’s coming from the stairs. She jumps and pulls away quickly. “I should go,” she blurts out before nearly jumping to her feet. “Good night.” She’s gone before I’m able to say anything to stop her.

I look down and notice she left behind the scarf she’d been knitting. I’m a coward. She was right there. Her face was inches from mine. She was right there, and I could have kissed her. But I didn’t. I let out a frustrated groan and throw my head back onto the back of the couch to stare at the ceiling. I’m a bloody coward.


	10. Empty Corridors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not often that I have certain songs playing in my head when I write specific scenes, but I did for this one. 
> 
> To hear what I hear, start listening to Let Your Heart Hold Fast by Fort Atlantic when George catches up to Emma in the corridor the second time. 
> 
> Ok, that's all. :)

**CHAPTER 10**

**Empty Corridors**

* * *

**EMMA**

“There you are, Emma. I was wondering if I was going to have to sneak you something for breakfast,” Ginny says as I sit down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione.

“This is the second morning in a row you’ve slept in. Are you feeling alright?” Hermione asks.

“I couldn’t fall asleep last night,” I say, leaving out the reason why. I can’t exactly tell them that I was up all night replaying that almost-kiss with George over and over again.

“Yea, I heard to come to bed pretty late last night. What were you doing in the common room so late?”

“I’m pretty sure I can venture a guess as to why MacKenzie was up so late,” Fred suggests as he took a seat next to Ginny.

How does he even know? Actually, that’s a stupid question.

“Knitting. I was knitting,” I say quickly, as George takes a seat across from me.

George smiles at me, and I look down, blushing.

“Is that what the kids are calling—“

Merlin’s beard. I’ve got to say something to shut Fred up. Or at least that will get me out of here.

“Wait, what time is it?” I ask, cutting Fred off.

“Almost eleven, why?” Hermione says, glancing at her watch.

“Shit!” I exclaim, quickly standing up. “I’m going to be late. I’m supposed to be meeting Professor Flitwick to get some help before our next exam.”

“But you’re brilliant at charms, why would you—” George starts to say.

I make a dash for the door, shouting, “Sorry! Gotta run!” behind me as I leave.

I hurry out of the Great Hall and make a break for it. I head down one of the first-floor corridors, not really paying attention to where I’m going. I just need a minute to collect myself. I had figured by going down to breakfast as late as I did, I would have been able to avoid running into George unprepared. But, of course, that wasn’t my luck.

I find myself in the Transfiguration corridor when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Hey, Emma, wait up,” George says, slightly out of breath as he jogs toward me.

Shit. I keep walking. “Sorry, George, I don’t have time to talk right now. I’m already late as it is.”

He catches up to me and falls into step beside me. “Hang on, I thought you said you were going to see Flitwick, not McGonagall.”

Double shit. “Did I say Flitwick? I meant Professor McGonagall,” I say dismissively. “Look, I really am going to be late—”

“Are you avoiding me because of last night?”

I stop and gawk at him. “Look, I already know what you’re going to say, so we don’t need to do this, ok?” I turn and continue hurrying down the corridor.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and jogs to catch back up with me. “Hang on. Emma! Can we please just talk?” He catches me by the elbow, forcing me to turn around. “Blimey, you’re surprisingly fast for someone so tiny.”

“I’m not tiny,” I snap.

He chuckles. 

“Look, I already know what you’re going to say. It wouldn’t work between us. You’re about to graduate, and I’m just one of your annoying kid brother’s best friends. We’re good as friends, but you don’t see me as anything other than that. It’s fine. I get it. I honestly don’t know what got into me thinking that maybe you be interested—”

“Emma—”

“Doesn’t matter. I just thought I’d save us the embarrassment, ok? Really we can just pretend—”

“Emma,” George says a little bit louder this time. “You’re rambling.”

I snap my mouth shut, and my face flushes with embarrassment.

“Are you done having my side of the conversation for me so I can talk now?”

I nod weakly, and he flashes me a grin that nearly makes me weak in the knees. It’s really unfair that he looks so cute when he smiles like that.

“I don’t see you as just one of my— how did you put it? ‘Annoying kid brother’s best friends’? I’d like to think we’re friends all on our own.”

“We are—“

He presses a finger to my lips to shut me up. “You had your ramble time. It’s my turn now.”

I try to ignore the way his finger grazes my bottom lip as he moves his hand away. Does he really have to be standing this close to me?

“Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who will drop everything just to cheer someone up because they’re having a bad day, but who also has no problem ripping someone apart for disrespecting someone you care about, even if it’s another friend that does it. I see someone brilliant and passionate and absolutely beautiful. I see someone that I like. That I like more than just as a friend. I have for a while now.”

“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, which just makes me blush even harder than I probably already am. “I don’t know. I guess I started noticing these little things about you. Like how it’ll be the middle of the summer, so you insist on wearing shorts. However, you’re always cold, so you’ve also got on some oversized jumper and super thick woolen socks, which is barmy, but adorable. Or how when you’re studying you chew on your quills and get this cute little crease in between your eyes. Or how you never keep a hair tie on you, so when your hair gets in the way, you just twirl your hair up and use your wand to keep it in place like it’s a chopstick or something. But mostly, I think it’s your laugh. It’s so warm and full. It’s contagious, and I just can’t help wanting to do anything I can just to hear it again.” 

As he talks, I feel my cheeks get progressively warmer and warmer. How is it that he notices all of these little things about me? I didn’t think he ever paid that close attention to me. Hell, I didn’t think anyone paid that close attention to me. I stare blankly at him, not sure if he’s still talking, because all I can hear is my own heartbeat as it thunders in my chest.

He smiles softly and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before taking a small step closer to me. His height forces me to tilt my head back just to keep looking at his face. “Emma? Please say something.”

I part my lips to say something; what that is, however, I have no idea. The whole thing is absolute insanity. Up until recently, I thought we were just friends. But I’d be a lying to myself if I said I hadn’t started seeing him differently, too. He’s wicked smart, despite not getting the best grades, and he’s always able to make me laugh, make anyone laugh, really. And he’s also gentle and sweet. I mean, he spent the better part of an hour last night holding me while I cried. Of course, I like him. I should tell him that. I want to. I just can’t entirely trust my voice right now. So, instead, I act on impulse.

I lift up to my tip-toes and tentatively brush my lips against his. I pull away quickly when I don’t feel him respond. “Sorry, I—”

The apology dies in my throat as George takes my hands and pulls me behind a nearby statue. Then his lips are on mine. One arm wraps around my waist, his hand pressing against my lower back, as the other hand slides into my hair to cradle my head. Luckily my body is acting on reflex because, by the time my brain catches up fully, I’m already kissing him back.

Bloody hell, I’m kissing George Weasley. And it’s incredible. It’s tentative, a little unsure, but also soft and slow. I’m grateful for his strong arm around my waist because I’m not sure my legs would be able to hold me upright at the moment. My legs feel like jelly and my heart is pounding in my ears and I almost feel like I can’t breathe, but I don’t want to break this kiss. I manage to brace myself by gathering up part of his jumper in my fists, pulling him closer as we slowly explore each others mouths. I’m not sure how much time passes before George finally pulls away. His forehead rests against mine, and we stand there for a few moments, eyes closed, our breath coming out in shallow pants.

“Merlin’s beard,” George whispers finally. “I’ve been imagining doing that for months, but that definitely does not compare to the real thing.”

I still can’t speak. I’m not sure I can remember how. I take a shaky breath and let it out before finally opening my eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be rendered speechless,” he jokes.

“I just—that was…” I shake my head and loosen my grasp on George’s jumper, which I didn’t realize I still had in a death grip. “Hang on, did you say months?”

He chuckles nervously. “Caught that, did you? Well, like I said, I’ve fancied you for a while now.” He brushes a thumb over my cheek.

My eyes nearly flutter closed again at the contact. “How long?”

“Since April,” he admits with surprising specificity.

I snake my arms up around his neck. “But that was nearly six months ago. I had no idea—”

“You were with Seamus, and I didn’t want to be that bloke… I’m a little surprised you didn’t know, though. According to Fred, I was not good at hiding it.” 

“I think I started suspecting something this summer. I was just telling myself that we were just getting closer as friends but—” I feel my cheeks flush again. “I almost completely forgot I even had a boyfriend when I was around you. Actually, I did forget until you brought it up in the kitchen the day we left for school,” I admit.

“I said that to remind myself more than anything else. Otherwise, I might have come close to kissing you.”

I take a deep breath and look him in the eye. If he can make some big speech telling me that he likes me, I should at least try to do the same. “I like you, too, George. That’s probably obvious seeing as I kissed you first, but— You’re kind, and you’re funny, and you make me forget about the bad, even if it’s just for a second, and—”

A smile spreads on his face, a little crooked and a little nervous, as he rests his forehead against mine. “Can I kiss you again?”

I nod, forgetting what I was about to say, and tilt my face up to his. He presses his lips to mine again, this time more confidently. It’s brief, but still just as electric. I sigh happily as he pulls away.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing that. Assuming you keep letting me, that is,” George murmurs against my lips. 

“I was planning on it,” I say in a tone that I hope comes across as flirty. “But maybe not in the middle of this outside-facing corridor, because I’m—”

“Freezing. Yea, I can feel you shivering. We could head up to the common room if you wanted,” he suggests.

I hesitate for a moment.

“Or not?” He pulls away to study my face.

“It’s not that I don’t want to spend more time with you, because I do. I’m just not sure if I want everyone to know about… whatever this is right away,” I say carefully.

“Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

My heart nearly breaks at the disappointment in his voice. I tighten my arms around his neck and give him a reassuring kiss. “It’s not because I’m embarrassed or anything. But, you’re my best friend’s older brother, and I don’t want him freaking out or anything. At least not until we’ve really figured out what this is between us. I hope I’m making sense because I do fancy you. I really do.”

His face relaxes into a natural smile. “You’re making sense. You’re also a better friend than Ron probably deserves. I’m not sure that his first thought would be about you if he liked your sibling.”

“Well, if he did, that would be a shock seeing as James is Bill’s age, and also I’m pretty sure Ron is straight,” I say with as much of a straight face as I can manage.

George laughs and wraps his arms tighter around me. “Merlin, you’re great.”

I tilt my face up to kiss him again because I simply can’t help it. “You’re not so bad yourself. So, you’re ok with keeping this to ourselves for a little while?”

He nods. “Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I need to take you out on a date and properly woo you first, anyway.”

“What kind of date?”

He smiles mischievously. “That’s need-to-know information.”

“And let me guess, I don’t need to know?”

He brushes his nose against mine. “Not yet. But for now, let’s get out of here. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Where to? Are there any secret spots you know about that we can hide out in?”

He laughs again. “Like a broom closet? That's not exactly what I picture when I think of trying to woo you.”

“I was thinking more like a secret corridor or room behind a portrait. You had the Marauder’s Map for five years before you gave it to Harry, you must know of somewhere cozy we could sit and talk.”

“I am rather keen on the idea of keeping you in my arms for a while longer,” he says as he hugs me closer. “I may have an idea. But I’m not sure it can be described as being cozy exactly. At least, not in the traditional ‘warm’ sense.”

“That’s fine. You’re plenty warm.” I let my head drop to rest on his chest and breathe in that faint smell of oak and butterbeer that I noticed last night. It’s nice. Comforting.

He brushes his hand through my hair then presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Come on, let's go.”

* * *

**GEORGE**

It takes a little longer to get to where we’re going than it usually would, but I insisted on taking the back route so I wouldn’t have to let go of Emma’s hand as we walked. She doesn’t seem to mind, though; doesn’t even ask where we’re going. She just walks silently next to me, her slightly cold fingers laced between mine, shoulder brushing mine every so often. Finally, we reach the fourth floor and come to a stop in front of a giant mirror.

“I thought this passageway caved in,” Emma muses. “I spend a lot of time looking at the map with Harry,” she explains after seeing my slightly bemused face.

“Yea, it caved in, but it’s still big enough for the two of us, at least.” I tap the mirror’s frame to the tune of the Hogwarts school song, and the door creeks open. “After you.”

She carefully climbs through the mirror hole. “Blimey, it’s dark in here,” she says as I climb in after her. The mirror closes behind us, leaving it even darker. “Lumos,” she whispers, and a faint light emanates from her wand tip, lighting up her face.

“Good thinking. I know this probably isn’t exactly what you had in mind,” I apologize, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“No, it’s ok. At least there’s not a draft anymore.” She smiles brightly at me and rests her free hand on my chest.

“Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead before turning her around to face the rest of the caved-in corridor. I move her arm slightly so the light from her wand illuminates more of the space. “I’ll need the light.”

I pull out my wand and start pointing it around the ‘room,’ muttering various incantations, conjuring cushions and blankets to cover the floor, and a few floating glowing orbs to provide light.

Emma lets out a little gasp of surprise then puts out the light on her wand. “Brilliant.”

“You sound surprised,” I tease. “So is this ok?” I ask, turning around to face her.

She smiles softly and closes the distance between us, nodding. “Perfectly cozy.” She stretches up to her toes and brushes her lips against my jaw before plopping down onto the pile of pillows on the floor. She lies back and pats the floor next to her.

I smile and sink to the floor next to her. Almost instantly, she cuddles into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. I shift to wrap my arm around her shoulders, and she snuggles closer. 

“This is nice,” she whispers, craning her head up to look at me.

“Yea, it is. I would’ve guessed you’d be a cuddler.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” she teases.

I bring my face closer to hers. “Definitely not,” I murmur before closing the rest of the distance.

I mean for it to be a quick kiss, but before I can pull away Emma’s hand comes to the back of my neck, keeping me close. And I am completely ok with that. She props herself up on her elbow and scoots up, so I’m no longer ducking my head to reach her. With both of my arms now free, I slide one hand into her hair and settle the other on her waist. She lets out a soft hum as I twist my fingers in her hair, which threatens to stir up something in me that probably wouldn’t be proper before we’ve had a first date, so I slowly pull away, brushing her nose with mine as I do.

“So, why April?” she asks softly.

“Hmm?”

“When I asked how long you’ve liked me, you specifically said since April. What happened in April?”

“Oh.” I let out an embarrassed chuckle. “My birthday. Even with everything going on with the Triwizard Tournament, you remembered Fred’s and my birthday.”

“Well, of course, I did. It was your birthday. Your seventeenth birthday. It was a big deal,” Emma says earnestly.

“Yea, well, you were the first one that remembered. At least day of. Mum obviously did, but her care package didn’t come until the next day because Errol got lost. Ginny and Ron had something planned for much later, but, I didn’t know that at the time, and—”

She brushes her thumb across my cheek. “You thought they’d forgotten.”

“I know it sounds stupid, but yea, I did. Then you came bouncing into our Charms class before it started, even though I’m pretty sure you had Divination, which meant you were probably going to be late.”

“Oh, I was definitely late,” she says with a laugh. 

I can’t help smiling, and my grip in her hair tightens slightly as I bring her forehead to rest on mine. “See, that right there. How could I not start to have feelings for a girl who risked being late to class just to deliver a bunch of homemade sugar cookies decorated to look like pocket watches?”

“That’s the tradition isn’t it? Giving a wizard a watch on their seventeenth birthday?” she asks as if that was the strange part of what she did.

“It is. But my point is that you didn’t have to do that. Go out of your way and make yourself late to class, I mean.”

“It was your birthday,” she repeats.

“You keep saying that as if anyone would have done the exact same thing. They wouldn’t. But, yea, after that, I couldn’t help looking at you differently. I knew you didn’t do it because you felt that way about Fred or me—”

“How do you know I didn’t have a secret crush on Fred?” She flashes a mischievous grin. 

I tickle her side slightly, and she lets out a little squeal. God, she’s cute. “But, honestly, I think that made me like you more. You didn’t have any sort of ulterior motive.”

“We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”

“Except, I don’t even know your exact birthday except that it’s sometime around the end of October,” I admit.

“October 29th. But that doesn’t matter. You officially know more about me than anyone does. Well, except for—never mind.” She quickly shuts her mouth and breaks eye contact for a minute.

I know she was about to say ‘Seamus.’ And a very small part of me feels like it should be jealous of that, but then she looks back up at me and I realize that I’d be barmy to be jealous of that prat when she’s looking at me the way she is. “Still, I want to know everything.”

She smiles, then tucks her head back on my shoulder and rests her hand lightly on my chest. “Ask away.”

“Favorite color?”

“Is it too Gryffindor of me to say red?”

I laugh. “Favorite food?”

She lifts her head to look at me. “Hang on, no. You have to tell me yours. That’s how this game works.”

“Ahh, ok. See, I needed to know the rules first. Mine’s green. Favorite food?”

She settles her head back on my shoulder. “My Grandma makes the most amazing cranberry orange scones. One summer, she tried to teach me how to make them, but they didn’t taste the same.”

“Mmm. That sounds good. I think mine is probably my Mum’s fudge.”

“Oh, I love your Mum’s fudge. It’s a highlight of my Christmas mornings.”

I laugh and start to idly stroke her hair, enjoying the soft feel between my fingers. “I’ll have to tell her you said that. Alright, let’s see… Favorite subject?”

“Divination.”

I tilt my head in surprise. “Really? I would have guessed Charms. You’re brilliant at Charms.”

“Yea, I’m good at Charms, but there’s something about Divination that soothes me. I think it’s because I know it doesn’t matter if I’m good or bad at it. It’s also a good excuse to drink tea in the middle of class. What about you?”

“Can I cheat and say Quidditch?”

She laughs. “Ok, my turn to ask a question.”

We stayed like that for hours, gradually becoming more entwined as we alternated between quizzing each other and snogging. I didn’t want to leave our little private hideout but knew that at some point we had to or else people would wonder where we disappeared to.

I shift my weight slightly, realizing that Emma is almost entirely on top of me now. She lifts her head to look at me. “Sorry, am I crushing you?” she asks as she shifts some of her weight off of me.

“Not at all. You’re too tiny to crush me,” I tease.

“I’m not that tiny,” she says with a glare.

I quickly kiss her on the lips, because I can’t help it. “I like how tiny you are.”

Her glare wavers, then she smiles.

“But we should probably head back to the common room soon. We’ve been gone a while, and people might get suspicious,” I say reluctantly.

“You’re probably right,” she says in agreement, but makes no moves to get up.

I kiss her forehead then start to tickle her sides until she scoots away, squealing with laughter.

“Not fair,” she scolds.

I grin and stand up before offering a hand to help her up.

“Thanks,” she says, threading her fingers between mine. “Should we head back separately?”

“That’s probably for the best. I’m going to sneak down to the kitchens anyway. We missed lunch.”

“Did we really?” She checks her watch. “Oh, wow, yea, we really did. I guess I’ll just say I got distracted in the library after I met with McGonagall.”

“Flitwick,” I correct.

“Good catch,” she says before lifting up on her toes to brush a kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Definitely.” Can’t wait.


	11. Owl Post

**CHAPTER 11**

**Owl Post**

* * *

**GEORGE**

It’s only two days into my secret relationship with Emma, and I’m already coming to regret the ‘secret’ part of the arrangement. It’s not that I don’t know she has a point, a good point. Things can get messy when friends decide to try their hand at romance, I get it. It doesn’t stop me from desperately wishing I could kiss her at any given moment. It almost feels as if nothing has really changed between us. Except for the shared looks a mealtime or from across the common room. Those are new. And brilliant. 

“Can you pass the tea?” Emma asks. Her hand brushes lightly, but purposefully, against mine as she takes the kettle from me. 

I bite back a smile and focus on the plate in front of me as I bump her knee with mine under the table. 

“Harry, what time is your detention with Umbridge?” Hermione asks. 

“Seven. At least Astronomy was canceled this evening, or else it would have been even later,” Harry says bitterly. 

“You got detention again?” Fred asks incredulously. “Angelina’s gonna be barking.” 

“I know, but you should have heard what she was saying—” Harry’s defense is cut off when a tawny owl swoops down and drops a letter directly into Emma’s soup, splattering it across the table. 

“Bloody—” Emma swears under her breath. She checks to see that no one is looking, then pulls out her wand and whispers, “Tergeo.” The liquid disappears off of the envelope, and she slips her wand back into her robes. 

“Emma, someone could have seen you,” Hermione hisses. “You know Umbridge has been cracking down on magic outside of the classroom.”

“Oh, whatever. She needs to get that stick out of her—” Emma stops, and I feel her tense next to me. 

I peer over her shoulder and notice a stamp in the right corner of the envelope. A letter from her grandparents. I carefully place a hand on her leg under the table to comfort her without blowing our cover. 

Ron looks at her with confusion and concern from across the table. “What’s wrong, Emma? You look as if you’ve seen a boggart of something.”

I give her leg a squeeze, trying to say to her that she should tell them what’s happened. As much as I love that she trusted me enough to open up to me, everyone else has been worried about her. 

She takes a shaky breath and looks up. “It’s— ok, so I didn’t say anything at the beginning of term because there was already so much going on, and I didn’t want anyone to worry about me—”

“We’re already worried about you,” Harry interrupts. 

“I know. I just— I think I thought if I said anything out loud about it, it would jinx it or something. I thought if I just stuffed everything down, I’d be fine, but—” Emma groans and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. “Alright,” she takes a deep breath and continues in a rush, “before the term started, my grandpa had a stroke and wasn’t waking up, and it’s been over a month since I last heard any news from my grandma even though I’ve sent her a few owls since then. But this is from her, and so I’m scared to open it.”

“What’s a stroke?” I hear Ron whisper to Hermione, who quickly fills him in. “Oh,” he says solemnly. 

“Well, you don’t know that the letter has bad news in it. It could be good news,” Harry suggests. 

Emma smiles sadly at him. “You’re right,” she says as she carefully flips the envelope over to open it. Her hands tremble slightly as she unfolds the letter and begins to read it. Tears spring to her eyes as she lets out another shaky breath. 

I squeeze her leg again to prevent me from wrapping my arms around her like I desperately want to. 

“He woke up. He’s— He’s going to need a lot of therapy, and he’s going to be in a wheelchair for the foreseeable future, but the doctor’s say that he’s going to be alright.” She lets out a breath of relief mixed with a sort of sob as more tears fall down her cheeks. 

“Well, that’s good then, right?” Ron asks with confusion as to why Emma would still be crying if it was good news. 

“Yes,” Emma says with a groan as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “God, I’m sick of crying. I’ve cried more in the past few days than I have in years.” She lets out a hollow laugh before dropping her hands into her lap. She slowly grabs my hand, lacing her fingers between mine. 

“I’m glad he’s alright,” Harry says with relief. “But you could have told us.”

“Yea, I mean, I know you said you didn’t want us to worry about you, but we already were. If you’d told us we at least would have known why we were worried about you,” Ron says.

“Tactful, Ronald,” Hermione scolds. “But, he’s right. We’re your friends, Emma.”

“You’re always there for us. Let us do the same,” Harry adds.

Emma’s hand tightens around mine. “Thanks, guys,” she mutters, her voice sounding suspiciously watery still. 

“Alright, folks, I think that’s enough touchy-feely stuff for one evening,” I say lightheartedly to diffuse the tension.

“Yea, I feel like I’m listening to one of Mum’s radio soap operas,” Fred adds. 

Emma laughs, warm and full like usual, and I smile. ‘Thank you,’ she mouths at me. 

I mouth a quick, ‘Of course,’ back at her and give her hand a quick squeeze before letting go so I can continue to eat. 

After dinner, everyone except Harry heads up to the common room. Emma immediately goes to her usual homework corner with Ron and Hermione, which is fine since I need to pick Fred’s brain on what to do for my date. I’ve been racking my brain for ideas for two days, but I haven’t come up with anything. I settle into an armchair by the fire, out of earshot of the few first years attempting to levitate feathers at one of the other tables in the room. 

Fred collapses into the chair next to me and glances over at Emma. “So, am I really the only now who knows? She hasn’t even told Hermione?”

“She wants to keep us a secret until we can figure out what that actually means. It makes sense,” I say with a shrug. 

“If you say so, mate. Any ideas of what you’re going to do for a date? Or are you two just going to keep sneaking around and snogging in caved-in corridors?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you that,” I groan. “I definitely intend on taking her on a proper date, but I can’t think of anything that feels right. The first Hogsmeade trip is this weekend, but that’s the best I’ve come with, and that’s not even a plan. It’s just a location.”

“What’s wrong with Hogsmeade? You’ve taken girls to Hogsmeade before,” Fred says, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Yea, but that was different,” I say dismissively.

“How is it different? A date is a date.”

“It just feels different. This is Emma we’re talking about. She’s different.” I glance over at where she’s studying and smile. She’s so focused on her work already that she hasn’t noticed me looking yet. “She’s—”

“You are not about to give me that ‘she’s not like other girls’ nonsense,” Fred mocks. 

“Well, she’s not,” I protest. “We’ve been friends for years.” 

“Shouldn’t that make it easier? You won’t have to deal with any of the awkward getting-to-know-you rubbish.” 

“That’s the part I’m good at, though. Look at my track record, Freddie. I’ve never gone out with a girl for more than a few dates and maybe snogged a few times before we amicably split. But with Emma, I’ve already skipped past most of that.” I run a hand through my hair and glance at Emma again, this time catching her eye. She smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear that’d fallen out of her wand-bun then goes back to chewing on her quill. I stare at Fred. “I’m freaking out, mate.” 

He laughs. “Yea, I can tell. Look, it doesn’t have to be a big deal if you don’t make it one. MacKenzie is completely chill. She’s not expecting some fancy outing to Madam Puddifoot’s. Just walk around with her and talk to her like she’s a normal person. Take her to get a butterbeer, and if you’re really nervous, maybe get yourself a firewhiskey.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to get sloshed on our first date. But you’re probably right. Simple might be the way to go.” I grab my school bag from the floor and dig around for a quill and a spare bit of parchment. 

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I can’t exactly just walk up and ask her out loud, can I?” I manage to find a small bit of ripped parchment and balance it on the arm of the chair to scroll out my note. 

_You and me: Hogsmeade Saturday?_

_Also, you look beautiful today._

I wait for the ink to dry enough, then fold it up into a small square. “Well, wish me luck.” 

Fred gives me a salute as I walk over to Emma’s table. 

“I am so over this class!” Ron growls, clamming his book shut just as I get to the table. “She isn’t teaching us anything. She just has us copy the book over and over again. I’m starting to get hand cramps! What do muggles call it, Hermione?”

“Carpal tunnel. And you aren’t getting carpal tunnel, Ronald. You’re a wizard. You aren’t susceptible to muggle ailments,” Hermione says with annoyance. 

“What is Ron going about?” I ask, leaning over the table behind Emma.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Emma says flatly. 

“Ah, see, I just enchant my quill to do my copying for me,” I say nonchalantly.

“That’s cheating!” Hermione scolds. 

I shrug. “And what are you working on?” I ask, looking at Emma’s open textbook. I carefully slip the note under her book before pulling out a chair, sitting in it backward with my arms resting on the back of it. 

“Divination. We finally moved on from dream interpretation to palm reading.” Emma glances between Ron and Hermione before carefully extracting the note and reading it.

“Ah, palm reading. Need someone to practice on?” 

She smiles to herself and sticks the note between a few pages in her textbook, then looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Don’t make fun.”

“I would never make fun,” I say, sticking my hand toward her. “What’s my future look like?”

She lets out an exasperated sigh and takes my hand, but the corner of her mouth quirks up slightly in amusement. “Alright, lets see. Well, your palm is more of a square shape with a relatively equal length to your fingers, which are long and slender. This tells me that you’re generally cheerful, creative, and active, but you also get bored easily. This also indicates that your desire to achieve fame and recognition could tempt you toward dishonesty.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “Well, do continue.”

She smirks and traces her fingers along the lines of my palms. “This one here is your life-line. It’s long, which means you’re generally healthy, but there’s a small break in it, which could mean that there’s an accident or a sudden change at some point in your future.”

“Well, that’s ominous.”

Her fingers trail along another line. “This one is your head-line. It’s short and wavy, which means your creative and impulsive.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Are you going to keep interrupting?” she scolds.

I snap my mouth shut and nod for her to continue. 

“Good. And then this one,” Emma trails off as she lightly traces her fingers along the line directly below my fingers. She smiles to herself for a moment before continuing. “This one is your heart-line. Your’s starts just below your index finger, which means you will generally have good luck in your love life. It’s also deep and curved, so it tells me that you’re quite the romantic.” A faint blush creeps to her cheeks as she lets my hand go. 

“He gets all his romantic wisdom from me. I am the older and wiser one,” Fred says, appearing behind me out of nowhere. 

“You’re only twelve minutes older,” I remind him.

“Yea, and therefore I’m twelve minutes wiser,” he says with a grin.

“We only had that lecture yesterday,” Ron says incredulously, looking at Emma. “How are you able to remember all of that already?”

Emma looks at him and raises her eyebrows. “Ron, we learned all of that last year. Professor Trelawney is just reviewing it again since it often comes up on the O.W.L.”

Ron grumbles and opens his textbook again. 

“Harry, you’re back early,” Hermione says with surprise.

“She let me go when I kept dropping the quill,” Harry says weakly, clutching the back of his hand as he slumps into the seat next to Emma.

Emma shuts her book and shoves everything in front of her into the middle of the table. “Hermione, did you manage to get the murtlap essence?”

“Yea, right here.” Hermione reaches into her bag and produces a small vial and a bunch of clean rags. “And I got these from Madame Pomfrey.” 

“Thanks.” Emma lays out one of the cloths on the table and holds her hand out gently to Harry. 

“What’s going on?” Fred asks, “What do you need murtlap essence for?”

Harry glances between Fred and me, clutching his hand tighter to his chest. 

“Harry, please. IIfyou don’t let me look at it, it’s going to get infected,” Emma urges gently. 

Harry sighs and uncovers his right hand, slipping it into Emma’s outstretched one.

Fred and I both let out a gasp at the sight of his bloody hand, with the words ‘I must not tell lies’ carved into it. 

“What the fuck?” Fred growls.

“Oh, Harry. This is so much worse than last time,” Emma whispers. 

“‘Worse than last time’?” Fred parrots back. “What do you mean ‘worse than last time’? What is that woman doing to you?”

“This is going to hurt more this time, Harry,” Emma apologizes before starting to wave her wand over Harry’s hand, muttering various healing incantations. 

Harry winces but doesn’t say anything as the bleeding slowly stops, and the blood surrounding the wound disappears. Emma takes one of the clean rags and starts to dab at Harry’s hand with what looks like some sort of antiseptic. Harry inhales sharply and swears under his breath.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” Emma soothes. 

I’m torn between expressing the same outrage as Fred and watching Emma work. She really seems to know what she’s doing, which is impressive all on it’s own since healing magic isn’t easy. But it’s even more impressive since she seems to be using spells that are only taught at the N.E.W.T. Level. 

“Is anyone going to explain why Harry is coming back from detention all bloody?” Fred asks in outrage, looking between Hermione and Ron. 

“Fred, keep your voice down. Umbridge has decided to use some… less than savory detention methods,” Emma says calmly. 

“‘Less than savory’?” I repeat back at her. “From the looks of it, I’d say its torture.”

“How are all of you this calm right now?” Fred drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “Especially you, MacKenzie. I’d think you’d be storming the gates right now.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment, Fred.” Emma calmly continues to dab the murtlap essence on Harry’s hand. Surprisingly calmly, in fact. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this calm before. Fred is right. Out of anyone, I would have expected her to be dragging Harry to McGonagall’s office to show off Harry’s bloody hand to try to get Umbridge fired. 

Emma wraps a thin strip of gauze around Harry’s hand then starts to flex his fingers and wrist. “How does that feel?”

Harry winces slightly, but nods. “Better. Thanks, Em.”

“You still look a bit peaky, though,” she muses. Reaching down for her bag, she pulls out a bar of chocolate. “Here, eat this.”

“Alright, Professor Lupin,” Harry jokes, breaking off a piece of chocolate. 

Hermione takes a deep breath and looks at Harry. “Harry, we have to do something about this. This has been going on for weeks. You need to tell Professor Dumbledore.”

“Hermione—”

“This has been going on for weeks?” I ask, my anger level starting to match Fred’s. 

“Yes, and Harry refuses to go see anyone about it. Not even Madame Pomfrey. Hence…” Emma gestures at the supplies in front of her. I can hear irritation starting to creep back into her voice, meaning her calm demeanor was a temporary thing. 

“Well we have to do something,” Fred says. 

“Yea, maybe we can slip her something from our Skiving Snackboxes,” I suggest. “Nosebleed Nougat?”

“Blister Brittle?”

“We only just got that ratio right, though.”

“So?”

You can not poison a professor and a Ministry employee!” Hermione hisses.

“It’s not poisoning.”

“Per se.”

“But,” Hermione presses on, “we do need to do something.”

“Hermione—” Harry warns again.

“I don’t know why you won’t consider it, mate,” Ron says.

“Consider what?” I ask.

“Hermione thinks that I should be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry says dryly. 

“Brilliant!” Fred and I say in unison.

“Yea, brilliant,” Ron says with an air of sarcasm, “except Harry won’t do it.”

“Because I’m not qualified!” Harry shouts, drawing the attention of the group of first years heading up to bed. 

“You’re more qualified than that pink gargoyle,” Fred growls. 

“You have already defeated You-Know-Who once,” I add. 

“I was a baby!” Harry drops his voice lower, but he’s still nearly shouting. “That was just luck—”

“Oh, come off it, Harry,” Emma snaps. “What about the other three times you’ve defeated him? You were the one that figured out that the Philosopher’s Stone was hidden in the school and defeated Quirrell. You were the one who figured out where the Chamber of Secrets was hidden, destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary, and saved Ginny’s life. You were the one that cast a fully corporeal patronus at thirteen-years-old. You not only survived the Triwizard Tournament, but you did really well in it—Don’t glare at me— And, you were the one that fought in the graveyard and won. You lived to see another day and forced Voldemort underground for a while.”

Everyone except Harry flinches slightly at the mention of You-Know-Who’s name. We’re used to Harry using it, and Dumbledore using it, but not Emma. At least, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her use the name before. 

Harry deflates a little— he looked as if he wanted to rip out someone’s hair a moment ago— and rubs the back of his neck with his hand, wincing when he realizes it’s still injured. “Well, when you say it like that it sounds a lot more impressive than it is. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time. The other half, I had help.” 

“But Harry, it is impressive. The fact that you were able to do all of that without proper training… You know more about defensive magic on pure instinct than anyone I know,” Hermione says earnestly. 

“I still don’t have the authority.”

“Bugger authority. Well, what do you two think?” Emma asks, turning to Fred and me. “Do you think Harry has the credibility to teach defensive magic?”

“More than Umbridge or Lockhart did,” Fred says matter-of-factly. 

“I’d listen to what you’d have to say. I can’t cast a patronus, so it’d be wicked if you could teach me,” I say.

Emma smiles, telling me that my answer was a lot more helpful to her case than Fred’s. She looks at Harry expectantly. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “Fine, I’ll do it,” he says through gritted teeth. “But how are we even going to go about this?”

“We need to gather interest and have a meeting,” Hermione says. 

“But when?” Ron asks. 

“Hogsmeade is this weekend,” Emma suggests. 

“Well, that takes care of when, but we’d still need a where,” Harry points out. 

Everyone looks at Hermione expectantly. She’s silent for a few moments before she finally speaks. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Well, let us know when you figure it out,” Fred says. “I’m heading to bed. Georgie?”

“Go ahead. I’ll be up later.”

Fred nods and gives everyone a little salute before heading up the stairs.

Hermione closes her books and stands up, yawning. “I’m going to head to bed, too. Are you coming, Emma?”

“I’ll be right there. I’m just going to finish this last question up,” Emma says. Hermione nods, then heads up the stairs. Once she’s gone, Emma closes her book and slides it over to Harry. “Here, you can copy my Divination homework for tomorrow morning. Just make sure you reword the sentences.”

Harry’s shoulders slump in relief. “Bless you. I don’t deserve you.”

“You wouldn’t let me copy your homework!” Ron protests.

Emma laughs. “You had more than enough time to do it yourself,” she says quickly before turning back to Harry. “Go get some sleep. You’re still looking pale. You can give that back to me in the morning before class.”

He smiles weakly. “Thanks. I really mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

She smiles. “Yea, yea. Now go.”

Harry and Ron grab their stuff and start to climb the stairs, Ron grumbling about Emma’s preferential treatment along the way. 

Once they’re out of earshot, I lean over and whisper to Emma, “So, does my ‘good luck in my love life’ mean that we’re on for Saturday?”

She starts to pack up her stuff slowly, purposely not looking my way. “I don’t know, I’m thinking about it,” she teases. 

I stand up and catch her hand, then glance around the common room, only seeing a couple of sixth years sitting by the fire. I tug gently to pull her closer. 

“George! Someone could see,” she whispers, putting a hand on my chest. 

“Yea, I don’t think they’re paying attention to us,” I nod to the sixth-years, who are now snogging. “Besides, I’ve been dying to do this since dinner.” I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly. 

She sighs contentedly and wraps her arms around my middle. “I needed this,” she murmurs into my chest. 

I kiss the top of her head and softly stroke her hair. “I’m glad your grandfather is alright.”

“Thanks.” After a few moments, she pulls back slightly to look at me. 

“So, Saturday, then?” I ask, hopefully. 

She lifts up on her toes and presses a brief kiss to my lips. “Can’t wait.”

I smile and pull her back for another kiss. “Also, I’m pretty sure ‘bugger authority’ is the hottest phrase to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Are you calling me hot?” she teases. 

“I believe I technically called your mouth hot—” My face flushes a shade of red that probably matches my hair at the look of bemusement she gives me. “And that just came out way more suggestive than I meant.”

Emma lets out a soft laugh. “You’re cute when you blush,” she murmurs against my lips before kissing me again. 

When she pulls away, I can see a faint flush on her cheeks. “So are you.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yea. Good night, MacKenzie,” I say with a smile. 

“Good night, George,” she says, sealing it with a kiss before throwing her bag over her shoulder and climbing the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter was just an excuse for me to write about palm reading (because I'm a witch who loves doing magic research).  
> 


	12. A Dozen Cornish Pixies

**CHAPTER 12**

**A Dozen Cornish Pixies**

* * *

**EMMA**

It's Saturday. 

AKA: Hogsmeade day.

AKA: Defense club meeting day. 

AKA: First date day. Well, not my FIRST first date, just my first date with George. 

Last night, I hadn't been nervous at all. I felt fine about it. Giddy, to the point of not being able to focus on my homework properly, but fine. Now though, I'm incredibly nervous and not in a giddy way. More like the I-have-a-dozen-cornish-pixies-loose-in-my-stomach way. 

George and I had decided to not spend any more secret time together after Tuesday when he'd asked me out. Well, ok, it was George's idea. He wanted today to feel like a proper first date and spending late nights in the common room snuggling and snogging while everyone else was asleep would've ruined his plans. I'd thought it was a sweet idea at the time, but now, as I'm frantically trying to get ready, I'm cursing him for the idea. It put a lot more pressure on this date than I would like.

I shouldn't be this nervous. It was just George. It's not as if I didn't already know him. I'd already kissed him, several times in fact, and we'd already had a semi unofficial date in the caved-in corridor behind a mirror on the fourth floor. So today was just a formality.

Nonetheless, I'm panicking, and I can't get an opinion on the four— no five— potential outfits lying out on my bed right now. One, because Hermione and the rest of the girls in my dorm went down to breakfast fifteen minutes ago while I was still trying to curl my hair in the bathroom using a spell I'd read in _Witch Weekly_. And two, because no one knows I even have a date today. 

My hair falls into my face for the fourth time, and I let out a frustrated huff before twisting it up into a bun, shoving my wand through to hold it into place. Hopefully, that doesn't ruin the curls, but at the moment, that's the least of my problems. If I don't get dressed soon, I'll be late to walk down to Hogsmeade with everyone. I need to focus. I get up from the floor and stare at my options on the bed, concluding that my non-school wardrobe is severely lacking in "appropriate date" attire. I have a few dresses, but mostly, my wardrobe consists of oversized jumpers and cardigans, ripped jeans, and leggings, none of which are particularly sexy and not exactly what I would consider proper first date attire. My last first date was easier to plan for. It was the Yule Ball, so I'd had dress robes to wear. But now… 

I chew on my lip for a moment before remembering that I'd put on lipstick, and biting my lip would probably smudge it. I check the time and realize that I'm almost entirely out of time, so I grab my favorite dark blue long sleeve wrap dress and start to slip into it. Since it's cold out, I throw on a pair of tights before lacing up my combat boots. Usually, I'd pair this dress with a cardigan in addition to my jacket, but all of my cardigans dwarf my small frame (not exactly sexy), so I opt against it. 

I quickly step in front of the full-length mirror that hangs over the dormitory door to check my reflection then pull out the wand from my hair, letting it cascade back down. Not bad. Sufficiently date-like, I'd say. At least, I hope. Taking a deep breath and gritting my teeth, I grab my leather jacket and head out the door before I can second-guess myself. 

"Oh, there you are, Emma," Ginny says when I run into her in the Entrance Hall. She takes a glance over my hair and outfit. "Why are you all dressed up?"

I open my mouth to make up some excuse, but then I spot Harry coming out of the Great Hall, Hermione, and Ron trailing after him. "Oh, Harry, good. I was hoping I hadn't missed you." Ginny gives me a skeptical look, so I continue before she can say more. "Do we want to start walking?"

"Aren't you going to eat?" Hermione asks. Although my appetite had at least mostly returned once I got the relieving news about Grandpa, she'd still been worrying over me. Normally, I'd be annoyed, but her heart was in the right place. Also, I'd made a promise to myself that I'd try to let my friends fuss over me as much as I usually fuss over them, so I let it go. 

"I'll stop at Madame Puddifoot's on the way. I've been dreaming of her scones for the past month," I say, linking my arm with hers. "Come on, we should get there before anyone else does."

Hermione nods, seeming to be satisfied with my answer, and we start walking down to Hogsmeade. Forty minutes later (after stopping to get a scone), we arrive at the Hog's Head Tavern on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Other than us, the only person in the dark and dusty pub is the bartender. He looks up at the sound of the door opening and does a double-take. Clearly, it's rare for anyone to come in here, much less a group of five people. We settle into a table by the fireplace and wait for more people to arrive. Over the course of the next half hour, a steady stream of people filters into the pub. A good number of Gryffindors show up, which wasn't surprising, including George and Fred accompanied by Lee Jordan, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the Creevey brothers, Neville, Lavender, Pavarti, and Dean (although Seamus wasn't with him, which wasn't all that surprising either). To my surprise though, several Ravenclaws— including Luna, Padma (Pavarti's sister), Michael Corner, Cho, and a friend of hers I didn't know — and a few Hufflepuffs also filter in. 

"Blimey, Hermione, how many people did you tell?" Ron whispers. 

"Only a few people. Word must have gotten out," Hermione whispers back with surprise. 

I look around at the crowd then look to Harry, who's looking progressively more nervous now than he was a few minutes ago. "It'll be fine," I say, bumping his shoulder with mine in a semi-encouraging manner. 

He takes a deep breath and looks to Hermione, obviously hoping that she will kick off the meeting so that he doesn't have to. 

She nods and stands up, clearing her throat. "Thank you all for coming. I didn't expect so many people to be here. I guess we can just start by opening up for questions," she says with hesitation. 

"I heard that the purpose of this club would be to learn defensive magic," Justin Finch-Fletchly, one of the Hufflepuffs, pipes up from the back. "But who exactly would be teaching us?"

"That would be Harry," I say, nudging Harry in the ribs so that he stands up. 

"I, er— yea, that would be me," Harry stammers. 

"And what exactly qualifies him to teach us?" Zacharias Smith says. 

I shoot him a harsh look out of the corner of my eye. I never liked that guy. He's been on my list ever since he helped spread rumors about Harry in our second year. I understand that he was probably just trying to be protective of Justin, but I still think he's a prat. 

"Perhaps if Harry could tell us a little more about his experiences," Lavender suggests, leaning forward in her seat. "Like what happened last year—"

"If everyone came to hear me talk about Cedric, you'll be sadly disappointed, and you might as well clear out now," Harry snaps. 

A series of whispers spread throughout the crowd, and I discretely tug on his sleeve, trying to tell him to calm down. 

"Isn't it true that you can conjure a patronus, Harry?" Luna pronounces loudly over the whispers. 

"Blimey, Harry, can you really?" Dean asks in awe. 

"He also killed a basilisk with the sword of Gryffindor," Ginny says, beaming at Harry. 

"Not to mention he won the Triwizard Tournament," Lee adds.

The crowd quiets and stares at Harry, who shoves a hand through his hair and stares at the floor. 

"Is he really back?" Cho tentatively asks, unwilling to mention Voldemort's name. 

"Yes, he is," Harry says firmly, letting out a long breath. "The Ministry is lying. Voldemort is back, and so are his followers. And they're all dangerous, so we need to be able to protect ourselves. Clearly, Hogwarts isn't preparing us to do that, so we need to take matters into our own hands."

A murmur of agreement comes from the crowd, so Hermione passes around a piece of parchment on which everyone signs their names. Hermione tucks it into her bag and assures everyone that the parchment wouldn't be left lying around, then says she will get the word out to everyone once they find a place to start meeting. 

Slowly, everyone starts filtering out of the pub, going by twos and threes so as not to be suspicious. I lock eyes with George as he leaves and catch him mouthing that he'll be waiting nearby for me to meet him. I give a small nod before turning back to Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"I think I'm going to go back up to the castle. It's starting to snow out, and I have some knitting I want to get done." Hermione glances out the dirty pub window, where a few fat flakes can be seen falling from the sky. 

"I'll head up with you," Harry says. 

"You guys go ahead. I'm planning on walking around a bit," Ginny says.

"I'll join you, Gin," I say.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron nod and make their way out of the pub. 

Ginny zips her coat up and looks at me. "Oh, as much as I'd love to hang out, Emma, I'm kind of—"

"Meeting Michael? Yea, I figured," I say, cutting her off. 

"Then, why did you—Oh! Of course!" she exclaims. "You have a date, don't you?"

I sputter and fiddle with the zippers on my sleeves.

"That explains the dress and lipstick. And don't bother lying. You never wear lipstick. Didn't want to say anything in front of the boys?"

"I didn't want to make a big deal about it and have it get back to Seamus somehow," I lie. "He only just stopped glaring at me every time he sees me in the common room."

"Well, who's it with?" she asks eagerly. 

"I'll—I'll fill you in later. I don't want to jinx it."

"I'm holding you to that." She smiles conspiratorially before turning on her heel to head out of the pub. "Good luck!"

I wait for a beat or two before heading out of the pub myself and glance down the street and see that Ginny has already met up with Michael before starting to look for George. I catch him across the street, standing in front of the post office with Fred, talking animatedly about something I can't quite catch from this far away. In the dim lighting of the pub, I couldn't quite see him properly, but now in daylight, I can see exactly how handsome he looks.

He's dressed casually, in a pair of jeans, a light-weight jumper, and a wool coat that's unbuttoned and hanging open with a scarf tucked under the lapels. Still, the jumper fits a lot more snugly across his chest, which is a lot more muscular than I've ever realized. I mean, I knew he probably had a classic beater's build hidden somewhere underneath the uniform and quidditch robes and loose-fitting hand-knitted jumpers I was accustomed to seeing him in, but seeing evidence of it for myself was an entirely different thing. 

I ignore the flutters forming in my stomach and make my way over to him and Fred. "Hi," I say tentatively. 

A smile forms on George's face. "Hi," he says, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.

Fred glances between the two of us, a look of bemusement on his face. "Yea, I think that's my cue to leave. Oh look, there're Angelina and Katie." He turns and shouts down the street, "Oi! Angelina!" before walking off in the same direction. 

I let out a small giggle, and George shakes his head, rolling his eyes despite the grin still on his face. 

"So—"

"You look really—" George says at the same time as me. 

"Sorry," we say at the same time again. 

He laughs and rocks forward on the balls of his feet. "You look really nice," he says with a small smile. 

I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks. "Thanks." 

We're silent for a moment before we both let out a nervous laugh. 

"Er— right. So, I was thinking that maybe we could go get a butterbeer then just walk around a bit," George suggests. 

"Yea, that sounds good to me. Just not at the Hog's Head. I don't trust that place to have clean glassware," I say with a backward glance at the run-down establishment. 

He laughs. "Fair. I'm sure we can find a semi-hidden table at the Three Broomsticks," he says. "Not because of— I just mean, so people don't see us and think—" 

"It's alright. I knew what you meant."

He looks down and kicks at a rock on the ground, and I look down and fiddle with the zippers on my jacket sleeves. "So, Three Broomsticks?" I ask after a moment. 

"Yea," he says, looking up. 

We start to walk up the street toward the rest of the more popular shops and restaurants, walking in relative silence. Every so often, one of us glances at each other out of the corner of our eyes then looks away when we catch the other doing it. It's pretty crowded when we get to the Three Broomsticks, but we're able to find a reasonably secluded booth tucked into a far corner, facing away from the rest of the pub. We both shrug out of our jackets and toss them into the booth before sliding in to sit. 

Once we're sitting, I realize how secluded the table really is. The high back of the booth seat blocks almost our entire view of the pub and does a surprisingly remarkable job at blocking sound. We sit in awkward silence, waiting for a server to come by, but several minutes go by without a sign of anyone coming over to us. 

"I'm not sure any of the barkeeps know we're back here," I observe. 

"You might be right. I'll just head to the bar myself. Butterbeer?" George asks. 

I nod, and he gets up to order, leaving me alone. Another few minutes go by as I wait for George to get back. I pull at the long sleeves of my wrap dress, wishing they were longer so I could use them to cover my hands. 

Finally, George returns to the table. "Madame Rosmerta said she'd bring out drinks by now that she knows we're back here," he says as he slides back into his seat. 

"Cool," I mutter. I fiddle with my hands as I try to think os something else to say, but my brain is a complete blank. 

"Is this weird?" George asks after another long beat of silence. 

I look up and open my mouth to say no, but decide against the lie. "A little," I say with a nod. 

"Is it because we've been friends for too long?"

"Shouldn't that make it easier?" I ask. 

"No idea. I think I'm just nervous," George admits, staring at his hands, which he's flexing open and closed on the table. "I've never been on a date with someone I already knew so well and liked this much before. I'm not really sure of the protocol."

"I'm nervous, too. We could pretend we don't really know each other that well," I suggest. "Although, that feels a little silly since we've already kissed." 

George's eyes light up for a moment. "Hang on, can I try something?" 

"Uh, sure?"

He tentatively moves closer to me, and my heart starts beating faster. When I don't scoot away, he closes the rest of the distance between us. His hand comes up to tilt my chin up then he presses a soft kiss to my lips. Suddenly, my heart is in my throat. I've kissed him several times by now, but this feels different. Like the fact that it's the first kiss we've shared since the start of our first official date makes it mean more or something. 

George pulls away slowly, still holding my chin. "Well, that was—" His voice comes out significantly more gravely than it was a moment ago. The way he's looking down at me makes me think he might have also felt the difference. "Was that ok? I thought it might relieve some of the tension."

"Yea," I breathe. "More than ok." It definitely relieved some of the awkward tension, that's for sure. Although, now a part of me wants to just keep kissing him, crowded pub be damned. 

Madame Rosmerta drags me away from that thought, though, when she comes by with two warm mugs of butterbeer and a steaming plate of chips. "Here you go, dears," she says, setting everything down in front of us. 

George quickly drops his hand from my chin but doesn't scoot away. "Thanks," he says, tossing her a charming smile.

She winks and heads off to another table nearby. 

"You got us chips, too," I say. 

"Figured you might be hungry. I didn't see you at breakfast this morning."

I smile and pluck a chip off the top, blowing on it before I pop it into my mouth. "I was getting ready, so I skipped breakfast and got a scone from Madame Puddifoot's before the meeting. But, I'll never say no to chips." 

He laughs and takes a chip for himself. "Well, you do look beautiful today— not that you don't always. Just if I'd known you'd get all done up all nicely, I might have out in more effort." 

I blush slightly and tilt my face up to kiss his cheek. "I think you're handsome," I say against his cheek. 

Before I can entirely pull away, George's captures my chin again and pulls me in for another short kiss. "Sorry, couldn't help it," he murmurs, releasing me so we can eat and drink our butterbeer. Whatever uncomfortable, nervous energy there was between us at first has now dissipated. Well, at least the uncomfortable part. I'm still a little nervous, but it's back to that giddy nervous. A good nervous. Like in anticipation of something. 

We get one more round of butterbeer, which leaves me feeling just the slightest bit fuzzy even though the alcohol content in butterbeer is nearly non-existent, then decide to head out to walk around town for a bit. I stand up and brush my skirt down as George slips into his jacket. "Can you hand me my coat?"

"Oh, here. Let me," George says, holding my jacket up so he can help me put it on. 

"Oh, thanks." I blush slightly and turn so he can help. 

"Ready?" he asks once I turn around to face him. 

I nod, and we head through the crowded pub back to the front door. George opens the door for me, and I'm instantly greeted by a blast of cold air and a few fluffy flakes of snow in my face. "It's barely October. How is it already snowing?" I grumble to myself, zipping my jacket up. 

"It's Scotland," George says with a laugh.

I grumble again and shove my hands in my pockets as we start to walk down the street past a few shops. Whatever warm buzz I was feeling from the butterbeer a moment ago is now gone, and I'm seriously regretting not wearing a cardigan in addition to my coat.

"Cold?" George asks, glancing sideways at me.

"I'm always cold, remember?" 

"I'm a little surprised you aren't wearing one of your adorably large jumpers." 

"Didn't exactly go with the dress," I mumble. 

He smiles and stops. "Here," he says as he pulls off the scarf that's draped over of his shoulders. 

"No, I'll be ok," I protest, but he's already taking a step closer and putting the blue and red striped scarf over my shoulders, winding it once around my neck. 

"I wasn't really using it anyway. Besides, it goes with your dress." He lets his hands fall back to his sides but doesn't back away. "Warmer?"

I crane my neck up more to look at him better and nod, although I think the newer warmth spreading through me has more to do with the body heat radiating off of him than the scarf. "You think my oversized jumpers are cute?"

"I do. They're just very… you," George says with a smile.

Another gust of wind comes down the street, blowing my hair into my face. I start to reach up to sweep it out of the way, but George's hand is already there, brushing the hair away from my forehead and tucking it behind my ear. My breath catches when his hand lingers, his thumb brushing gently along my jaw. He looks as if he's about to kiss me, which would probably be a bad idea since we're surrounded by people. Hell, even the intimate position we're in right now is perhaps not a smart idea. But I lean closer to him anyway, unable to help myself. "Is there anyone around that you recognize?"

His eyes flit around the street before landing back on my face. "Not anyone that would notice us."

"Then kiss me?" 

The words are barely out of my mouth before I feel George's lips against mine, soft and warm. I hum softly and lift up to my toes so I can reach him better, placing a hand on his hip to steady myself. He hums too, smiling against my lips as he pulls away, all too soon. Although it's probably for the best. Making out in the middle of the street in Hogsmeade isn't exactly the most inconspicuous thing we could be doing. 

And it seems as if George has the same thought because his hand drops quickly back to his side and he takes a step back. "Come on, let's go to Zonko's," he suggests. 

I smile widely back at him before falling into step beside him. We spend the next few hours walking from shop to shop (mostly to get out of the snow), talking and laughing. After Zonko's Joke Shop, Honeydukes, Spintwitches Sporting Goods, and Dervish and Bangs, we head into Gladrag's Wizard Wear. George gets distracted by a display of weird pocket watches by the front, so I head toward the back jewelry case. 

"Looking for anything in particular, miss?" an older gentleman behind the counter asks. 

"Oh, no, I'm ok. Just looking." I peak into the case and spy a pair of gorgeous vintage earrings.

"Ah, good eye," the shopkeeper says. 

"Opals, right?"

The shopkeeper nods.

"I thought so. Opals are my birthstone."

"Hey, you disappeared," George says, popping up behind me. "Ah, and got distracted by something shiny, I see." He rests his hands on my waist and peers into the case with me. "Little niffler," he whispers just loud enough for me to hear. 

I turn enough to look at him, intending on sticking my tongue out at him, but I catch a glimpse of a different head of red hair just outside the shop and freeze. "Shit, it's Ginny." 

"Where?" George asks, starting to turn around. 

"No, don't turn around," I exclaim. "Thank you," I say quickly to the shopkeeper before grabbing George's hand, dragging him over to a rack of clothes so we can hide behind it just as Ginny walks through the door with Michael.

"Woah, what's the problem? We're friends. We're allowed to walk around together as long as we're not too cozied up together," he says with a defensive tone in his voice.

I shush him then give him a sympathetic look. "No, I know. It's just— Ginny figured out that I had a date after the meeting, so if she sees me with you, she's gonna know."

He looks at me with wide eyes, then ducks and drops his voice to a whisper. "Wait, so who did you tell her it was with then? Also, how did she figure out you had a date?"

"I didn't. I figured I'd make up some name to tell her later. Also, I curled my hair, put on makeup, and I'm wearing a freaking dress even though it's snowing. It doesn't take a genius to figure out," I hiss, peering through the clothes on the rack to see if Ginny was gone yet. 

"Ooh, feisty today, are we?" George teases. 

I turn back to him and soften. "Sorry. I'm just flustered." 

"No, don't apologize. I kinda like it when you get all fired up. It's sexy. A little frightening sometimes, but still sexy." He tosses me a cheeky grin before peaking over the rack. "Who's that she's with?"

"Her boyfriend."

"Ginny has a boyfriend?" he asks, a little louder than I would like.

"Yes, now, shh!"

"Why wouldn't she tell me she had a boyfriend?"

I give him a pointed look and gesture between the two of us. "Do you really have room to talk?" 

"Good point." He shoots me a coy grin before looking over the top of the rack. "She's gone," he says.

"Oh, thank Merlin," I say, letting out a relieved breath. 

"We should probably get back to the castle, so we don't have another close call like that."

"You're probably right," I whisper back. "I had a nice time today, though." 

He tilts his head and looks at me for a moment. "Oh, I didn't mean that as in 'this is the end of our date.' I still had more planned." 

A smile spreads across my face. I know I probably shouldn't be so relieved, but I can't help it. I'm not quite ready to not be on this date.

"Assuming you're up for it, that is," he adds.

"I'd like that," I say softly. 

A similar smile spreads across his face, setting off the butterflies in my stomach. "You should leave first just in case Ginny is still milling around," he suggests.

"And what exactly am I going to tell her when she sees me alone?"

"I don't know. You're the clever one. Say your date went to get you a hot chocolate or something. Or, better yet, that he stood you up."

I gasp and smack his arm lightly. "Why in Merlin's name would that be better?"

"I don't like the idea of you with some other git." 

I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile as he just grins widely at me. 

"Just meet me in front of Madam Puddifoot's in ten minutes. You mentioned hot chocolate, and now I want some." I smile and then carefully step out from behind the clothes rack and walk out of the shop to the street.

* * *

**GEORGE**

“So, what else did you have planned?” Emma asks as we walk back up to the castle.

“You’ll see,” I say, being cryptic on purpose.

Emma shoots me an amused glare out of the corner of her eye. “You’re annoying.”

“Yea, but that’s one of my more lovable qualities, don’t you think?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

I smirk and nudge her gently with my elbow, but the stairs back up to the castle are slick with snow, so she nearly slips. Luckily, I’m able to reach my arm out in time to catch her by the waist and steady her. “Alright there, clumsy?”

“‘Clumsy?’” she parrots back. “You’re the one who pushed me.”

“Oh, I barely nudged you. Besides,” I wrap my arm tighter around her waist, pulling her into my chest, “I caught you, didn’t I?”

She rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless. “So annoying.” She pushes against my chest to get out of my grasp and starts up the stairs again.

I smile to myself and catch her hand in mine as I fall in step beside her again.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Emma says with a shiver once we get into the entrance hall.

“Not a fan of snow?” I tease as I knock some of the snow off my shoes.

“I actually love snow, just not when I’m not prepared for it.” She stomps her feet a little to get the snow off of her boots and tosses her head to try to shake loose some of the snowflakes that settled into her curls. Or rather, what were once curls. “Ugh, my hair is almost completely soaked,” she complains as she tries to squeeze some of the moisture out.

“Here,” I look around to hall to check for teachers or Filch before whipping out my wand. I mutter a drying charm and wave my wand over our heads then tuck my wand away again.

She lets out a little yelp of surprise as the snow evaporates away. “Thanks. I forget that I can just do things like that sometimes.” She reaches up to run her hands through her hair. “Well, so much for my good hair day,” she says with a shrug. “Oh well. So, do I get to know the plan now?”

I smile and lean down to kiss her cheek. “You’re still as beautiful as you always are, and no, not yet.” She flushes slightly, and I press another kiss to her cheek before retaking her hand to lead her to the next phase of our date.

We get to the fourth-floor mirror, and Emma stops short in front of it. “Our caved-in corridor again?” She asks.

I can’t help but smile at the way she calls it ‘our’ corridor as if it was something only the two of us knew about. In reality, I’m sure we aren’t the only couple in school to use it to sneak around— I know for a fact that Fred’s taken a few girls here before— but I still like the sound of it regardless.

“I’m not complaining,” Emma continues. “I’m just not sure why you couldn’t just tell me this is where we were heading.”

“Just wait.” I tap on the mirror’s frame to open the door and help her through before letting the door close behind me. “Oh, good. It’s all still here,” I say with a sigh of relief as I take in the space. The blankets and pillows I’d conjured the last time were still covering the floor, the floating lights I’d conjured this morning were still glowing brightly, hanging in mid-air, and in the center of the room was a picnic basket, just like I’d organized for there to be.

“Awww, a picnic,” Emma coos. She turns to me with a broad smile on her face.

I nod, a similar smile spreading on my face, and pull out my wand again. I give it a wave, and a single daisy blooms out of the end. Emma’s face lights up more (which I didn’t think was possible) as I pluck the flower and hand it to her.

She takes it gingerly and sniffs it. “My favorite. How’d you do that?”

“Flitwick taught me. I told him I had to impress a girl. Although, when he did it, an entire bouquet appeared,” I say with a shrug.

She laughs and smells the flower again. “You told Professor Flitwick that you had a date and needed to impress a girl?”

“He gives surprisingly good dating advice.”

She laughs again, which comes out more like a girly giggle and is completely endearing despite not being what her laugh usually sounds like. “And was the picnic his idea as well?”

“Oh, no, that was all me. Well, me and Penny. She put together the basket and brought it up here for me. So, what do you think?” I ask.

Emma steps close and leans up, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “It’s perfect.”

We take a seat across from each other on the floor, the basket sitting between us. I uncork a bottle of chilled butterbeer and hand it to her before digging into the food Penny packed, which is way too much for two people. We eat in relative silence, but it’s comfortable and not at all awkward, unlike the beginning of our date. It makes me see the wisdom in Emma’s idea to keep our relationship a secret for a while. When it’s just the two of us, things are simple. Easy. Relaxed. Like being together is the most natural thing in the world.

It’s refreshing, but also a little terrifying.

Emma leans over and steals a grape from my plate and pops it into her mouth with a smile.

“Thief,” I tease.

She sticks her tongue out, and I shake my head. Absolutely adorable. “Ok, famous wizard you’d most like to meet,” she says, falling back into our interview game from the last time we were here.

“Hmmm, I think I’d want to go back in time and meet Alberic Grunnion. He invented the Dungbomb.”

She tosses her head back and laughs. “Yea, that makes perfect sense. I think I’d like to meet Newt Scamander. He’s responsible for so much of what we know about magical creatures. It’d be fun to pick his brain.” She drains the rest of her butterbeer. “Your turn.”

“Alright, dream vacation.”

“Oh, good one,” she says, setting her now empty plate aside. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. Take a walk along the Seine, visit all of the muggle museums, go to Montmartre. Apparently, my Mom loved Paris. She spent a whole summer there, after Hogwarts before marrying Dad and having James. What about you?”

“Mine isn’t nearly as cultured as yours. All I want is to go to some beach where it’s warm, and the sand is so clean it’s almost white. And I want to just lie there and drink something fruity with rum out of a coconut.” I set my plate aside so I can stretch out slightly.

“With an umbrella in it?”

“Maybe even two.”

“Oh, and maybe you’re at one of those resorts where you could get a massage right there on the beach.”

“Hey, now, don’t go stealing my dream vacation,” I tease.

She smiles and shakes her head. “Ok, my turn. This one is just for you though: best prank you’ve ever pulled.”

“Oh, that’s tough,” I say with a contemplative sigh. “But I think I’d have to say the time that Fred and I snuck into Percy’s room one summer and moved everything to the right six inches. It drove him mad because he was sure that we did something, but he couldn’t figure out what we’d done.”

She looks at me with awe. “Brilliant. Absolutely genius.”

I flash a proud grin. “My turn. Favorite band?”

“Muggle or wizard?”

“Both.”

“Hmm,” she taps her chin with her pointer finger as she thinks. “Well, my favorite wizarding band would have to be Spellbound. They’re a train wreck, but I love them for it. But honestly, I kinda prefer muggle music, so I’d have to say The Kinks.”

“Never heard of them,” I admit.

“I think you’d like them. They’re from around the same time as The Beatles.”

“Oh, them I’ve heard of,” I proclaim. “We just listened to some of their music in Muggle Studies last week.”

She gives me a sort of contemplative look. “What made you decide to pick up Muggle Studies? It’s not like you can take a N.E.W.T. in it, can you?”

I blush slightly. It’s a little early to admit that I’m really only taking it so I can understand her a bit better, so I quickly deflect with a joke. “That question doesn’t exactly follow the rules of the game, MacKenzie,” I tease, leaning back onto my elbows.

“So? Since when are you one to follow the rules?” she challenges, which is precisely what she needs to say to goad me into something.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “I thought— well, I know almost nothing about muggles, and you talk about your muggle grandparents with such fondness, so I thought— I wanted to get to know that half of your life. Maybe have something else to talk to you about.”

Her face softens. “George,” she whispers, “that’s—” 

“I know it’s a little barmy.”

“Actually, I was going to say that’s sweet.” She smiles and starts to maneuver around the picnic basket.

“Oh.” My brain tries to tell me that I should sit up and meet her halfway. To close the distance. But that message isn’t getting to the rest of my body. Instead, I hold my breath, watching her crawl over to me (which is so impossibly sexy my brain nearly short circuits).

Emma kneels next to me and rests her hand on one side of my head to prop herself up as she leans over me. “I would have been happy to teach you about muggles myself, though.”

“That would have interfered with my grand romantic plan to surprise you with the vast muggle knowledge I gained,” I croak out. I swallow and add, “Plus, there’s the added benefit of getting to do research on muggle prank items.”

She lets out a small laugh. “I’ll have to introduce you to Grandpa sometime. Something tells me he’d be able to give you plenty of ideas for your shop.”

“You’d want me to meet your grandparents?”

“Yea. I basically already know your entire family, and my grandparents have never met any of my school friends before. Not even—” She stops before saying Seamus’s name and shakes her head. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t—”

“It’s alright. It doesn’t bother me. I’m not really the jealous type.”

She smiles softly, a hint of relief in her eyes, and brings her other hand up to rest on my chest, her fingers brushing lightly against my collarbone. “Good to know.”

“I’d like to meet them. Your grandparents,” I say, dropping my voice to a hoarse whisper.

“I think they’d really like you,” she whispers back. Her hand slides up to palm the side of my neck as she leans in slowly. Her lips brush softly against mine, almost tentatively at first, but then more confidently. My hand finds its way into her hair at the nape of her neck, leaving me propped up on only one elbow. She scoots closer, putting more weight on me, knocking me off my elbow and making me fall back against one of the pillows. She breaks away with a giggle. “Sorry,” she says, still giggling.

I grin and pull her back, showering her face with light kisses, just to keep hearing her laugh. “George!” she squeals.

“Yes?” I nuzzle her cheek and press a soft kiss to her jaw.

Her laugh fades into an appreciative hum. I kiss her there again, eliciting another hum, encouraging me to try placing a kiss slightly lower. Her breath catches and her hand slides into my hair, making my breath catch as well. I continue trailing kisses down from her jaw to her neck, nuzzling at the space just below her ear. She lets out a soft, breathy whimper, her fingers tightening in my hair so she can drag my mouth back up to hers. Our lips collide hungrily and I tentatively swipe my tongue across her bottom lip which is readily met with her own. Before I can really realize what I’m doing, our positions are switched. I’m above her, my leg slotted between hers, one hand tangled up in her hair and the other gripping her side like a lifeline, her hands raking down my back and— Fuck, what am I doing?

I manage to pull away, breathing heavily. “Is this ok?” I pant.

“What?” Her chest rises and falls about as quickly as mine does as she tries to catch her breath.

“I just— I don’t want you to— I want to make sure you don’t think we’re moving too fast.”

“Do you think we are?” she asks.

“No idea. It feels right, but this is uncharted territory for me.”

“Same here,” she says in between shallow breaths. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘uncharted territory’?”

I feel my face flush, but don’t bother hiding it. “I’ve never felt this way about a girl before,” I admit in a rush. “I’ve never really been in a relationship before— not saying we’re in a relationship, I just mean— You’re different than any other girl I’ve taken out. I’ve never really gotten past the getting-to-know-you stage.”

Emma looks up at me for a moment then a laugh escapes her lips.

“Right, well—” I relax my grip on her waist and hair and start to retreat away, suddenly feeling somewhat nauseated.

“Wait, no— George,” she says quickly, wrapping her arms around my neck to keep me close. “I’m not— I’m sorry, I’m just relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“Well, I’ve only ever dated one person before, and that wasn’t particularly… illuminating or educational. And I’ve seen the girls you’ve taken out before, and you’re older, so I— well, I assumed…”

“You assumed I was more experienced,” I finish for her.

She gives a tiny nod.

The muscles in my back start to relax slightly. “I’m not. I mean, I’ve snogged before, but it’s never been this—” I let out a long breath to control my heart rate as I try to find the right word. Passionate? Dizzying? Amazing? I can’t settle on a feeling, so I just move past it. “This is new for me, too.”

“Good new?” she asks, her voice small.

I drop my forehead to hers. “Better than good,” I whisper.

“I think so, too,” she whispers back before tilting her chin up.

Our lips meet softly like we have all the time in the world. Her mouth opens under mine, allowing our tongues to slowly tangle together. We stay like this for… I don’t even know how long, neither of our paces increasing, just keeping the same unhurried rhythm of exploration as we melt together. Eventually, Emma pulls away, and I almost instantly miss the feel of her lips. I press a few quick kisses to her mouth: each corner, her lower lip.

“As much as I hate to ask this, what time is it?” Emma asks.

I untangle my right hand from her hair so I can check my watch. “Nearly seven,” I say with a heavy sigh. “We should probably get back to the common room, huh?”

“Probably. I’m sure everyone’s wondering where we are by now.”

“Well, I expect Fred is probably just on his way back from Hogsmeade right about now, so I’ll just say I was with him if anyone asks.”

“So, we’re still keeping this to ourselves for now?”

I think for a moment. “I assumed, yea. Unless you wanted to tell people?”

“I’m not sure,” she says, biting her lip.

“Then let’s keep this between us still,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Are you alright with that?”

“Yea. I wasn’t at first, but I have to admit, I sort of like having you all to myself.” 

“Ok,” she says with a smile. “Though, what would you tell someone? Like, Fred, for example, since he’s your twin, and I wouldn’t expect our secret to extend to him.” 

“Well, that depends. If I were to ask you on another date, what would you say?”

“I don’t know. Are you actually asking, or are you just hypothetically asking?” Emma asks playfully.

I grin. “I’m actually asking.”

“Then my answer would be yes.” She flashes a coy smile.

“Well, we’ve been on one date,” I say, thinking aloud, “so if we go on another date, I guess one could say we’re dating.”

“Ah, the technical definition of the term,” she teases. “I like the sound of that. Dating. I’m dating George Weasley. Yea, it sounds kinda nice.”

I beam down at her.

She laughs. “You’re cute.”

“Nah, that’s you,” I say, brushing my nose against hers before rolling off of her.

She smiles and sits up, running her hands through her hair to tame it. “So, we should probably head back up to the common room separately, right?”

“That’d be smart. I have to drop this picnic basket back off to the kitchen’s anyway.”

“Do you want help packing up?”

I shake my head and sit up. “I’ve got it. You go ahead.”

She rummages around the blankets to find her coat then turns back to me. “I had a really nice time.”

“Me, too.”

She leans over and kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you in the common room.” She stands up and straightens her skirt before walking to the mirror hole. She carefully pushes it open, peaking out to make sure it’s safe to leave, then with a quick backward glance and a smile, she steps through, letting the door close behind her.

I stare momentarily at the door, then fall back against the pillows, smiling to myself, not caring if I look like an idiot. I’m dating Emma MacKenzie, and I’ll be damned if that’s not something to smile about.


	13. Off-limits

**CHAPTER 13**

**Off-limits**

* * *

**EMMA**

I manage to maintain my composure, at least relatively, until I get through the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room. The portrait closes behind me, and I take a moment to sink against it, a dreamy sigh escaping my lips. I probably look like one of those girls in those muggle romantic comedies that I spent the entire summer before my third year watching with Grandma. You know, when the guy drops the girl off at her front door with a goodnight kiss, and she managed to hold it together until she makes it inside. Except, I’d walked myself home, and I wasn’t even in the privacy of my dorm room yet. But I don’t even care that I’m a walking cliche. I’m on cloud nine, and I need a minute to bask in that before trying to interact with anyone like a normal person. Before trying to pretend that I’m not falling head over heels as quickly as I am.

I let out a long breath and try to put on a neutral face to walk through the common room up to my dorm to change. Because maybe changing out of my date outfit and into my frumpiest jumper will help me get some emotional distance from my feelings. But I’m not able to test that theory, because the moment I make it around the corner, Ginny is on me.

“Finally!” Ginny exclaims, dragging me over to where she’d been sitting with Hermione, Harry, and Ron. “Where have you been?”

“Gin, I was going to go change—” I protest, trying to wrench my arm out of her grasp, although its a futile effort. Ginny is surprisingly strong.

“You’re finally back from your date!” Hermione gushes, immediately closing her book and leaning forward intently.

I shoot a look at Ginny.

“Sorry. They were worried when I showed up for dinner, and you didn’t,” Ginny apologizes, except she doesn’t look all that sorry.

“We ate in Hogsmeade,” I say, a little too quickly. “Look, can I at least go change before you continue to grill me for information? It was snowing pretty hard on the walk back, and I’m chilled to the bone.” I’m not actually, but I could use a moment to get my story straight. I should have come up with one on my walk back from the fourth-floor corridor, but I was a little preoccupied trying to commit to memory the feeling of George’s hands tangled up in my hair— something I think I might like a bit more than I probably should.

“Change later. Details now,” Ginny demands, pushing me into the available space on the couch next to Harry before taking a seat directly in front of me on the coffee table.

“Jeez, Gin, what did MacKenzie do to you?” a voice says from behind me. I tilt my head back and see an upside-down George leaning on the back of the couch, his hands on either side of my head. I swallow and tear my gaze away from him before a blush can creep onto my cheeks.

“Emma had a date today, and she’s not giving us any information,” Ginny proclaims loudly.

“Ginny, can you maybe stop shouting,” I hiss, glancing around the room to see who’s in earshot. Thankfully, both Seamus and Dean are nowhere to be seen, so at least I don’t have to deal with that awkwardness yet. “Besides, it’s not a big deal. It was just a date.”

“Well, that’s a load of rubbish,” Ginny says, her voice lowered.

“Yea, you’re positively glowing,” Hermione adds.

“It must have been some date to keep you out for so long,” Harry says with a smirk.

My cheeks flush pink, which is only made worse when I feel George lean further over me to look at my face.

“Aww, she’s blushing,” George teases.

I don’t even need to see him to know he’s got that stupid grin of his plastered on his face. I can hear it in his voice. I know he has to pretend like everything is the same between us, but does he have to be so damn cocky? I resist the urge to tilt my head back and give him a murderous glare, because a) then he would know he’s getting a rise out of me, and b) if I see it I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stop myself from kissing that aforementioned stupid face.

“Well, who’s the lucky bloke?” Fred asks knowingly, plopping down on the arm of the sofa next to me.

I may not be able to glare at George right now, but I can glare at Fred. I fix my gaze on him, and he has a similar stupid grin on his face. One that says, ‘I know exactly who your date was with, and I just want to put you on the spot to see how well you can lie your way out of this.’ But it doesn’t set off the pixies in my stomach the same way that George’s does. Instead, it fills me with just enough spite to play his game.

“Roger Davies,” I say confidently, naming the first person that popped into my head.

“The captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?” Fred asks.

“Traitor!” George says with mock indignation.

“Hang on, maybe it was more of a recon-date,” Fred suggests. “Come on, Mackenzie. Tell us, how is the Ravenclaw team looking this year? Do we stand a chance?”

“It wasn’t a recon date,” I say with exasperation. “Believe it or not, we didn’t talk about Quidditch at all. Not everyone has the same unhealthy obsession as you do, Fred.”

Fred clutches a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just say that.”

“Ok, ignore Fred and George,” Ginny says, waving a dismissive hand towards her brothers.

“I normally do,” I quip back.

“How was the date? What did you two do?” she asks.

“Honestly, it wasn’t that noteworthy of a date,” I say casually. “We just walked around Hogsmeade for a bit and got dinner.” I pause for a moment, thinking about what I could say next that could get the biggest rise out of George. I mean, if he’s going to play games, I might as well be a proper opponent. “I’m not entirely sure I’m even going to see him again. He was a rather rotten kisser.”

I feel George’s entire body stiffen behind me. “Well, if you haven’t got any intel on the competition, then I’m not sure that there’s any reason for us to stick around, is there, Freddie?” he says, sounding a bit put out.

“I mean, honestly, if you’re going to be snogging the enemy…” Fred scoffs, standing up and nudging George’s shoulder. “Come on, Georgie.”

The twins head toward the stairs to the dorms. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch George giving me a backward glance, so I offer him a small smile, so he knows I didn’t actually mean what I said. He shoots me a wink, which would have made me weak in the knees if I hadn’t already been sitting down.

“So, was he really, or were you just saying that to get rid of Fred and George?” Hermione asks.

“What?” I ask, dragging my thoughts back to the conversation at hand.

“Was he actually a rotten kisser?”

“No. No, he wasn’t. He was a pretty spectacular kisser, actually.” I feel my cheeks flush again.

“Oi, can we not talk about you snogging blokes?” Ron pipes up from his chair, having been utterly silent since I sat down.

“Oh, you’re just jealous there’s no one for you to snog, Ron,” Ginny fires at him.

Ron blushes and ducks his head, but not before I catch him stealing a glance in Hermione’s direction. Well, I am surely going to be unpacking that at some point, but maybe not when I’m the one currently under questioning.

“So, are you going to see him again?” Ginny asks. “Roger’s on the team with Michael. We could go on a double date.

Fuck. That would explain why Roger’s name popped into my head so quickly. I saw Ginny with Michael earlier today, and that must have gotten my brain thinking of Roger. How in the bloody hell am I going to talk my way out of this one now?

“I’m not sure. I mean, I had a nice time, but…” I’m not actually seeing him in the first place, I want to finish.

“Is it Seamus?” Harry asks.

“What?” I ask, almost incredulously. “Merlin, no. At least, not like that. Honestly, I was over Seamus about four days after breaking up with him. But, he still seems put out by the whole thing, so I’m not sure if I want to be rubbing anything in his face.” It’s not a lie per se, and it’s the best I have at possibly getting myself out of this situation I’ve gotten into.

“Emma, you clearly fancy him. It’s written all over your face,” Hermione says gently. “I know Seamus, and you didn’t exactly end on the best of terms, but if you’re happy, you can’t let your ex get in the way of that.”

It’s good advice. But it’s Hermione, of course, it’s good advice. She’s never given bad advice. And if I hadn’t been lying about seeing Roger in the first place, I would probably follow that advice. So to keep up the ruse, I just nod and start to plot a fake breakup later in the week. “I’m going to go change and try to get some homework done in the room.” I quickly get up, grabbing my coat off of the air of the couch where I’d thrown it, and head toward the stairs.

“Oh, wait, Emma, you forgot your scarf,” Hermione calls after me.

“Wha—” I didn’t have a scarf today. I turn back around and see the blue and red scarf on the arm of the couch. Not my scarf, George’s scarf. “Right,” I say, quickly taking the scarf out of Hermione’s outstretched hand. “Thanks. I’ll catch you guys later.”

I quickly head up the stairs to my dorm, closing the door behind me and leaning against it as I stare down at the scarf in my hands. I should probably return it to George tomorrow. There’s no reason for me to keep it, really, is there? Except that it smells like him— the faint smell of butterbeer, cinnamon, and oak that I’d come to almost exclusively associate with him— and when I was wearing it, it felt like I was being wrapped up in his warm embrace.

Shaking my head, I walk over to my bed, thankful that Lavender and Pavarti were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice my boy-crazed moment. Not that they would judge me. Still, burying my face in a scarf I’d inadvertently stolen from a boy— who was only a few rooms away from me, I might add— doesn’t exactly mesh with the carefully crafted strong-Gryffindor-girl persona I’ve established over the past four years. I toss the scarf on my bedside table and start to strip out of my date outfit and slip into my pajama bottoms and a woolen jumper.

Yes, I’d definitely be returning that scarf tomorrow.

***

The Tuesday following my date with George, I’m sitting in the common room in an oversized armchair by the fire, attempting to work on my Potions homework while Ron and Harry pester me with questions about their Divination homework. “Honestly, boys, it’s not that difficult. It’s just a palm chart. You don’t even have to make any predictions. All you have to is look at the lines and write down what they indicate about that person,” I say with exasperation.

“Easy for you to say, you’re good at this stuff,” Ron grumbles. 

I heave a heavy sigh. “All right, look, Ron, you can do a chart of my palm, then Harry can do his chart on your palm, and I’ll walk you both through it. Then will you both let me get on with my Potion’s essay?”

“Yes,” Harry says with a grin. “You’re amazing.”

I wave a hand at him dismissively but smile nonetheless. 

“Whose hand are you going to do a chart for, then?” Ron asks.

“George’s. You were sitting right there last week when I read his palm,” I remind him. 

“But that was Tuesday, and we weren’t assigned the chart until yesterday,” Harry says skeptically.

Oh, now Harry decides to be observant. “I remembered enough to fill out the chart,” I say casually. 

“You remembered all of that after a whole week?” Harry persists. 

I actually did remember quite a bit from my impromptu palm reading of George, but I also got his help to fill in the gaps in my memory last night once everyone went to bed. In between him kissing me, anyway. 

Not that I can admit to that. 

“Can we focus on the task at hand, please?” I snipe at him before holding my palm out to Ron, who looks more than a little uncomfortable at the idea of taking my hand in his. “Ron, just take my bloody hand. Honestly, it’s not a big deal.” 

Ron grumbles and takes my hand, refusing to look my in the eye as he draws a diagram of the lines on my palm and describes what each of them means, with frequent reassurances from me that yes, he is getting it right. We’ve finally moved on to working on Harry’s chart and are almost finished with it when Hermione plops down on the couch on the other side of Harry and slams a piece of parchment down on the coffee table. 

“She’s done it again,” Hermione hisses through gritted teeth. 

“Done what?” Ron asks, a puzzled expression on his face.

I recognize the ministry seal on the bottom of the parchment and the words “PROCLAMATION: EDUCATIONAL DECREE NUMBER 29” scrawled in red letters at the top. “What did that bubblegum bitch do now?” I grumble, leaning forward to read the parchment. 

“You’ve used that one already,” Harry mocks, leaning forward to read the proclamation as well. 

“Well, I’m too exhausted from helping you two do your homework to come up with a clever new insult,” I fire back. “Extracurricular activities are now subject to review by the High Inquisitor,” I read aloud. 

“She’s canceling extracurriculars?” Ron asks, outraged. 

“Looks like it,” Harry says glumly, looking at Hermione. “Do you think she found out about our meeting?”

Hermione shakes her head. “Impossible. I hexed the signup sheet, so if anyone blabbed, we would know,” she says confidently. 

“It’s still a little weird to be a coincidence, though,” I point out.

“It’s possible she found out some other way, but I don’t think—” Hermione cuts herself off, her gaze falling on the twins, who are sitting across the room, surrounded by several Skiving Snackbox displays and some first-years. “Must they really be doing that right under our noses? It’s breaking about a dozen rules just off the top of my head. Honestly, Ron, you could stop them, you know. You’re a prefect.”

“Oh, just leave them be, Hermione. They aren’t hurting anyone,” I say defensively. 

“They’re experimenting on first years!” She exclaims. 

I bite my lip and glance over at them, watching as they feed a first-year what looks like a fever fudge and documenting the results. All right, as much as I want to defend them, that isn’t the best thing they’ve ever done. “They’ve tested everything on themselves first,” I say feebly. 

“Ignore them, Hermione.” Harry snaps his fingers in front of Hermione’s face to bring her attention back from the twins. “What are we going to do about this?”

“We still meet. I’m not going to let this horrible woman scare me,” Hermione says confidently. 

“Have you found a place to meet yet?” Ron asks.

“Not yet. Have you found anything yet, Harry?” Hermione asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ve poured over every inch of the Marauder’s Map and still haven’t come up with anything. Padfoot wasn’t able to give me any ideas, either. The closest thing he came up with was the corridor behind the mirror on the fourth floor, but that’s—”

“Caved in,” I finish for him. “And definitely not big enough for more than maybe five people at the most.”

Harry gives me a quizzical look. “Yea, what she said.” 

Hermione sighs. “Well, I’m going to go upstairs and continue my search in _Hogwarts: A History_ to see if there’s anything.”

“I’ll recheck the map,” Harry says, not sounding at all confident about the prospect.

Hermione nods and shoots a glare at George and Fred before heading up to the dorm. 

Ron stifles a yawn. “Do you still need my palm, or are you done with your chart?” He asks Harry.

“Nah, I think my chart is as good as it’s going to get. Thanks, Ron.”

Ron gives a grateful nod and yawns again as he climbs up the stairs. 

Harry and I fall into silence as he stretches out on the couch, holding the map above his head, while I curl up in my chair, reading my potions book. I check my watch. It’s only eleven, but the common room has mostly cleared out, save for Harry, me, and George and Fred, who are still sitting in their armchairs in the corner tinkering with their display boxes (the first-years having gone to bed hours ago). I steal a glance over at George, locking eyes with him. He shoots me a soft smile then raises his eyebrows, asking a silent question of when I think Harry is going to be clearing out. I look to the couch and see Harry passed out, his glasses knocked askew, the Marauder’s Map resting on his chest. I smile fondly at him then look back to George. “Asleep,” I mouth at him. 

I watch as George mutters something to Fred, who nods and starts packing up the displays. After a moment, Fred disappears up the staircase, boxes tucked under his arm, leaving George and me alone in the common room, save for a sleeping Harry. George tilts his head, beaconing for me to come over to join him. I nod and close my book, tucking it carefully into my bag, before slowly standing up. I crouch down next to Harry to carefully slide the glasses off his face and pry the map out of his grasp, whispering a quick “mischief managed” to it and placing both items on the coffee table. He doesn’t stir, so I gently drape the throw blanket from the back of the couch over him then tiptoe over to George, who almost instantly pulls me into his lap.

I stifle a giggle and curl up against his warm chest, already missing the fire’s heat. 

“That was sweet of you,” George murmurs against my hair, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. 

“Hmm?” 

“Essentially tucking Harry into bed,” he elaborates. “You two have a special relationship.”

I can’t help tensing up. George’s tone is neutral, but that sentence is something I’d heard from Seamus so often that it’s almost a trigger for me to immediately go on the defensive. I lift my head from where it was tucked into George’s neck so I can look at him. “You know there’s nothing there, right? We’re just friends. I promise. I don’t—”

George must have heard the edge in my voice because he tightens his arms around me and starts running a hand soothingly along my back. “Hey, hey,” he hushes me, “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that you two seem to care a lot for each other. I’ve never had a close friend like that before.”

“You have Fred.”

“That’s different. He’s my brother. I mean, he’s my best friend in the entire world, but I was born with him.”

“Harry’s like the brother I wish I’d had growing up,” I say firmly, still wanting to make sure he understands. 

“You know, now that you mention it, you two do sometimes remind me of Ginny and me,” he says with a smile. He presses a kiss to my brow, which I hadn’t realized was all scrunched up with worry until he drew my attention to it. I do my best to relax my face, but clearly, I don’t succeed because George’s smile fades as he looks at me. “It really bothers you when people assume you and Harry are a couple, doesn’t it?”

I chew on my lip and look away. “It didn’t use to. It bothered Harry, but not me. But then…” I trail off, unsure of whether I should bring up Seamus. I didn’t want to ruin anything between George and me by babbling about my ex. I’d already let him see enough of my insecurities, I didn’t want to scare him off.

George tilts my chin up to look me in the eye. “You can talk to me, Sweets.” 

“Sweets?” 

“I wanted a nickname for you that’s only mine to call you,” he admits. 

The corners of my mouth lift into a soft smile. “I like that.”

“Good,” he pecks the corner of my mouth then pulls back to look at me more intently. “Please, talk to me.” 

My stomach flips slightly, and I take a deep breath before speaking. “The rumors only started bothering me when I started seeing Seamus. It was one thing for a bunch of people who didn’t know Harry and me very well to think something was going on between us, but it was another thing when my own boyfriend… I mean, he was supposed to be the person that knew me the best out of anyone. The rational part of me knows that it’s just his own insecurities, but it felt like he didn’t trust me.” 

“That’s hard,” George says softly. He resumes the gentle rubbing motion on my back, and I start to feel the tension leave my back and shoulders.

“I’m sorry for getting defensive earlier,” I say after a while. “I know you’re not one of the people who believe the rumors. I just— I think the whole situation with Seamus messed me up more than I was willing to admit to myself,” I whisper. 

“You don’t have to apologize, not to me. I don’t want you to hide with me. I want to get to know every part of you, even the vulnerable parts.” He presses his lips gently against my forehead, lingering there for a few long seconds before pulling away. 

I tuck my head to his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his neck and pressing a soft kiss there. “I want that with you, too,” I whisper. “To know every part of you, I mean.”

“I’m not all that complicated, I’m afraid. What you see is what you get, pretty much. The comedic prankster.”

“Well, that’s a load of rubbish. You are much more than just the comedic prankster,” I say earnestly. “Speaking of, though, you should probably stop testing your products on first-years in front of Hermione. She’s livid. Also, maybe just stop testing them on first-years in general.”

“We’ve tested everything on ourselves first,” he says defensively. “We wouldn’t give anyone something we didn’t think was absolutely safe. And we’re paying them.”

“I know. Still, they’re only first-years. They don’t know any better. All they know is that they want to impress these cool seventh-years.”

He sighs. “You have a point. I’ll talk with Fred. But, you were saying how I’m more than just a prankster?”

I smile and kiss his neck again, too comfortable to move my head up to get his cheek. “Much more. You’re courageous and passionate. Smart. You’re a good brother, too. Ginny’s always spoken very highly of you. Fred, too, but in different ways.”

“Sometimes I think Ginny is the only one in the family that doesn’t lump the two of us together,” he admits. 

“Does it bother you when you two get lumped together?”

“Not always. We are twins, after all. We’re similar in a lot of ways, so it makes sense, but…”

“You’re also very different,” I say. “At first glance, yea, you two are pretty much identical right down to the personality. But if anyone takes the time to get to know the two of you, it’s not hard to see the differences.”

“Easy for one of the most observant people on the planet to say,” he teases. 

“I’m serious, though. You’re more reserved, whereas Fred is more outgoing. You’re more likely to sit back and think things through before acting. You’re sweet and kind. And you’re also better at quidditch.” He beams at me at that. “But if you tell Fred I said that I will deny it because I don’t need to find beetles in my soup at dinner,” I add hastily. 

“I’ll have you know that we haven’t put beetles in someone’s soup in at least two years,” he says proudly. “Besides, you know you’ve always been off-limits for our pranks.” 

“I have been?” I retort, finally lifting my head off of his shoulder so I can give him a narrowed look. “Because I seem to remember that I was the target of ninety percent of your surprise apparitions this summer.”

“It was cute seeing you jump out of your skin.” He kisses my nose. “We may tease you and sneak up behind you to scare you, but we’ve never pulled a proper prank on you.” 

I think for a moment over the past four years and realize that he’s right. They’ve never once pranked me. I’ve lost count of the number of times they’ve pranked Ron— and by extension sometimes Harry— and they’ve even pulled one over on Hermione before, but never me. “Why not?” I ask, feeling a little left out. 

He must have seen the troubled look on my face because he softens. “You’ve always gone out of your way to be nice to us. And you’ve never once mixed the two of us up. It didn’t feel right to prank you. And now you’re off-limits for obvious reasons.”

“Obvious reasons?” I repeat playfully.

“Well, I’m not going to pull childish pranks on my—”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Your…?”

His cheeks flush pink, and I decide to take pity on him, smiling as I lean in and press my lips firmly against his. He quickly responds, his arms tightening around my shoulders to pull me closer into his chest. After a few long moments, we both pull away, and I settle back into my original position, my face nuzzled into his neck. With the combination of George rubbing his hand slowly up and down my back and his body warmth, it doesn’t take long for my eyes to start to drift closed. 

“We should probably get to bed,” George murmurs against my hair just as I’m about to drift into a light sleep. 

I know he’s right, but I’m entirely too comfortable to move, so instead, I just mumble and burrow further into his shoulder. 

He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “Merlin, you’re cute when you’re sleepy.” 

I brush my nose against his neck then kiss the same spot. 

“Come on, Sweets.” He scoops an arm under my knees and effortlessly stands up, cradling me to his chest. 

“You’re surprisingly strong,” I murmur into his neck. 

“I’m an athlete.” He carries me over to the stairs leading to the girl’s dorm and gently puts my down on the first step. “I’d carry you farther, but then the stairs would turn into a slide, and that wouldn’t go well for either of us.”

“Such a gentleman.” I give him a sleepy smile and wrap my arms around his neck, something that’s a lot easier due to my artificial height thanks to the step. His arms wind around my waist. “Goodnight, George,” I whisper against his lips before kissing him gently. 

***

“The thing that annoys me,” Ron grumbles as we walk through the Entrance Hall door to the outside courtyard, “is that we didn’t even need to spend so long on those stupid charts last night. Honestly, couldn’t she have predicted that she would have fallen ill and canceled class with more notice?”

She meaning Professor Trelawney, who indeed was feeling under the weather and canceled all of her classes for the day. At least, that was the reason she gave on the note on the trap door up to her classroom. I have a sneaking suspicion that she was actually trying to avoid Umbridge monitoring her classes for the fifth time. 

“Just think of it this way, Ron, now you don’t have to scramble to do it this weekend for Monday,” I say as I wrap my cloak tighter around me. “Why are we outside in the cold rather than back in the common room where it’s warm?”

“It’s not that cold,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Besides, the fresh air is good.”

“Yea, and if we went back to the common room, you’d insist on us studying or something, and I’m not wasting my morning off studying,” Ron adds. 

“We still have Transfiguration later,” I remind him as we descend the stairs leading toward Hagrid’s hut.

“Don’t burst his bubble,” Harry teases.

“Yea, that’s nearly three hours from now. Let me have this. Oh, look, it’s Fred and George,” Ron says, veering off the path to a patch of grass where the two are stretched out.

“Oi, you’re blocking my sun,” Fred says, opening one eye to glare at us.

“I believe the clouds are already doing that,” I say flatly.

“Don’t you three have class?” George asks. “Not skiving off, are you?”

“Canceled.” I drop my bag onto the ground and plop down next to him. 

Harry and Ron both follow suit. 

“So, is this what you guys do when you don’t have class?” Harry asks. 

“Not always. Sometimes we sit over there,” George says, pointing across the lawn to the lake. 

I roll my eyes and lie back on the grass, my hair spreading out around my head, which happens to be close to where George’s hand is resting to prop himself up. He gently twirls a lock of my hair around his finger without so much as a glance back at me. My stomach flutters. It’s the little affectionate gestures that really set me off more than anything else. The ‘accidental’ brushes of the hand. The secret smiles. The inconspicuous touches. 

“Sometimes we also prank Filch,” Fred adds. 

“It must be nice to have so much free time,” Ron muses, leaning back on his backpack. “Maybe I’ll adopt your schedules for next year.”

“I’m pretty sure Mum would kill you,” George says, continuing to absent-mindedly card his fingers through the ends of my hair. 

“And if she doesn’t,” I add, “Hermione will.”

Ron grumbles and pulls his cloak hood over his head to cover his eyes, effectively blocking us out. It isn’t long before he’s asleep, snoring lightly, and utterly oblivious to the fact that Harry and Fred are picking grass blades and depositing them on top of his prone body. 

Taking advantage of Harry’s turned back, George scoots down and lies next to me, his hand brushing against mine. “I wonder how long it’s going to take for him to wake up,” he says conspiratorially. 

I smirk and lift my head to look at Ron, whose entire chest if covered with blades of grass and browning leaves. “I’m not sure, but I’m not sure I want to be here when he does wake up,” I say with a laugh. 

“This is nice,” he whispers, “getting to spend my morning with you.”

I smile and reach over, tentatively lacing my fingers with his. “Yea, it is.” 

We’re able to stay like this for a while, Harry sufficiently distracted, until Fred suddenly whisper-shouts at me. “Oi, MacKenzie, I just noticed, isn’t that your new boyfriend sitting over there with Cho Chang?”

I instantly drop George’s hand just in time for Harry to whip his head around to look at Cho. I prop myself up on my elbows and glance over. “Oh, yea, looks like it is,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. 

“Well, wouldn’t you rather be sitting over there with him than with boring ol’ us?” Fred says with a knowing smirk.

“Because I’m having a nice time sitting with my friends?” I suggest. 

“Well, maybe we should just invite him over here, then,” Fred says. 

I’m instantly hit with an intense desire to smack him, but I don’t have to because George props himself up and discreetly elbows him in the ribs. 

Fred swears loudly, waking up Ron. 

“What’s going— hey, why in the bloody hell am I covered in grass?” Ron asks groggily. He looks at Harry, who’s paying more attention to Cho than Ron, but is still holding a clump of grass in his hand. Ron throws a fistful of the grass from his robes at him. “You’re a bloody menace!”

Harry tears his gaze away from Cho and throws the clump back at Ron, laughing. 

“What did I miss?” Ron asks. 

“MacKenzie’s new beau is sitting over there, and I was just wondering why she’s sitting with us instead of over there with him,” Fred says, narrowing his gaze at me, issuing a challenge. 

“If you want to go sit with him, we wouldn’t mind,” Ron offers in one of his rare, genuinely considerate moments. 

“Yea, we wouldn’t mind, would we George?” Fred asks.

“Nope, not at all,” George says, his voice surprisingly even. 

I bite my lip and do some quick calculations in my head. I know for a fact that Fred is going to continue to have fun with this, there’s no getting around that. It’s also too late to say that we’ve already broken up. Which means that now I have a decision to make. Either I admit that I never went out with Roger, effectively outing George and me before either of us are ready, or I grit my teeth and stage a public fake-breakup with someone I’ve had a grand total of three conversations with in my entire time at Hogwarts. The latter option definitely is the one that requires more courage, but I am a Gryffindor, dammit, and isn’t reckless courage our house trait? And I’m surely not going to let Fred win. 

“You know what, Fred? I think I will go sit over there with Roger.” I shoot him an overly sweet smile at him before climbing to my feet and marching across the lawn toward my make-believe boyfriend. 

I stop short of the blanket Roger and Cho are sitting on, books spread out around them, and glance over my shoulder to see if the boys are all watching. They are. I take a deep breath and take a seat on the blanket next to Roger, a little too closely than I usually would for a relative stranger, but I need to make this look believable. 

Roger looks up from his book in surprise. “Erm, hello… Emma? It is Emma, right?” I nod. “I thought so. You were friends with Fleur last year.”

I nod again, then look over at Cho and smile. “Hi, Cho.”

“Hi. How are you?” Cho asks. 

“Been better,” I admit. I look back at Roger intently and decide to just get this whole thing over with. “Alright, this is going to sound barmy since we don’t even really know each other, but I need a favor.” 

“A favor?” he repeats. 

I chew on my lip, trying to decide how much information to give him. Maybe I can get away with the bare minimum. Fleur spoke highly of Roger in the few conversations we’d had about him, so perhaps he would help no questions asked. “I need you to fake a fight with me.”

“A fight?” he repeats. Again. Is he just going to continue to repeat everything I say back to me?

“Yes. My friends over there are watching us talk right now, and without going into all of the details, I need you to pretend to fight with me so I can go back over there.”

Roger sets his textbook aside and puts his full attention on me. “Yea, I think I’m going to need more of those details.”

I sigh. I should have expected this, but a girl could hope. “Alright fine. I’m kind of seeing someone, but we’re not exactly ready for anyone to know yet. They’re actually sitting over there right now, but that’s—” I shake my head. “Anyway, Ginny— Michael’s girlfriend— figured out that I had a date for Hogsmeade this past Saturday, so I had to give her a name when she asked who it was with. For some reason, your name was the first thing to pop into my head, and now, my friends think we’re dating. I’d intended to just fake a falling out sometime this week, but Fred saw you sitting over here and goaded me into coming over here and—” Ugh, I’m rambling. “The point is, I need you to pretend to fight with me so I can go over there and tell them that we broke up so I can keep seeing who I’m seeing in private.”

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” Cho asks, her voice small and laced with disappointment. 

I glance over at her and see that she’s looking, almost longingly, at Harry across the lawn. “What? Merlin, no. Cho, I can tell you with absolute certainty that there has never been, and there never will be anything between Harry and me besides friendship. He thinks of me as a sibling, and I feel the same way about him.” I sigh, realizing that I have to admit who I’m seeing, or else Cho is never going to believe me. Dammit, he doesn’t know it yet, but Harry is _so_ going to owe me. “It’s George Weasley I’m seeing. Which is why we’re keeping it a secret. I’m close with Ron, and I don’t want him freaking out.” I level a look at Roger. “Look, if you don’t want to help me, I understand. I can go over there and try to sell the lie as it is, but it’ll be more convincing if it looks like we’ve had a fight. And in case my lie becomes school gossip, it would be helpful if you went along with it.”

Roger looks at me for a long moment. “Alright.”

I raise my eyebrows. “As in, you’ll help?”

“I’ll help.”

My shoulders sag in relief, and I lean over to touch his forearm. “Thank you,” I say sincerely. 

“But—“

I withdraw hand and sit back. Should have seen the ‘but’ coming. “What do you want?”

“Your friends, coincidently half of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, are sitting over there right now. You must have some sort of insight on how they’re looking this year…” He doesn’t outright ask, but the question is implied. 

I cross my arms. “Like fucking hell would I betraying my house to cover up a secret of mine,” I growl. I’m about to get up, Roger’s cooperation be damned, when I get an idea. “But, I have a counter offer.”

Roger nods, indicating that he’s listening. 

“If I’m not mistaken, George is the reason you ended up in the hospital wing with a concussion and a broken arm last time you played Gryffindor.”

Roger’s face hardens. “Yea. My arm has twinged every time it has rained since,” he grumbles. 

“Well, I could get him to try not to purposely aim bludgers at you in your next match.”

“You could get him to throw the match?” Roger asks in surprise.

I’m pretty sure I would have an easier time convincing Professor Snape to take house points away from Draco than convincing George to throw a quidditch match. “Not the whole match. And I can’t get him to avoid targeting anyone else, but I could at least get him to lay off you specifically. It would save you from injury again. There’d be no such guarantee about Fred, though.”

“It’s not Fred that scares me,” Roger admits. He has a point. George may be the softer of the twins off the pitch, but on… well, he’s a bit of a monster. Roger glances at Cho, who’s also on the Ravenclaw team, clearly hoping she would weigh in with her opinion. Except, Cho isn’t paying attention to us anymore, though. Her focus is firmly back on Harry. “You have a deal. What do you need me to do?”

“Just start looking like you’re angry about something.”

He plays along, crossing his arms over his chest and furrowing his brow. 

I clear my throat and raise my voice just loud enough for the boys to hear from across the lawn. “How could you honestly ask me that?”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Roger says exasperatedly, his volume matching mine. He then drops his voice to a whisper, “wait, what are we fighting about?”

“Best stick to something close to the truth,” I whisper back before raising my voice again. “I don’t care how good of a time we had on Saturday, I’m not just going to sell out my house team so you can have a chance at winning the quidditch cup!”

Roger nods. “So, house pride is more important to you than our relationship?” 

“Good line,” I mouth at him. “I think it’s safe to say that we don’t really have a relationship,” I shout. I drop my voice to a whisper, “Thank you, I owe you.” 

I climb to my feet and start to turn away, but Roger catches my hand. “Just live up to your end of the bargain, and we’re even,” he says quietly.

I nod and give him a small smile, then jerk my hand out of his and stomp off in the direction of Harry and the Weasley boys. I let out a frustrated growl as I drop down on the grass next to George again. “The nerve,” I mutter under my breath, loudly enough for everyone to hear. 

“What happened?” Fred asks, his eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“Did he really ask you to give him information on how our team is doing?” Ron asks. 

“Oh, you guys heard that, huh?” I ask, feigning embarrassment. I pick at my nails to avoid looking anyone in the eye, mostly because I’m not sure if I can keep a straight face otherwise. “But, yea, he did. So I told him there wasn’t a chance in hell, and I dumped him.”

“Well, I’m glad to see that your loyalties lie with us,” Fred says proudly. 

“My loyalty lies with Gryffindor, not you, Fred,” I spit, unable to hide my annoyance with him any longer. “Anyway, I think I’m going to head back up to the castle a little early. I’m suddenly not in the mood to be outside anymore.”

I stand up, sparing a glance at George as I throw my bag over my shoulder. He shoots me a small, apologetic smile, which I would return, except I’m too annoyed. Not at him, of course. It’s not his fault that his twin is a menace. Still, I’m not in the mood for anything right now, and just need to calm down. “I’ll see you in Transfiguration,” I say to Harry and Ron over my shoulder before effectively storming up to the castle. 


	14. Dumbledore's Army

**CHAPTER 14: Dumbledore's Army**

* * *

**GEORGE**

I haven’t seen Emma since she stormed up to the castle after Fred’s insensitive joke this morning, and it’s been just about a long since I last said anything to Fred. After Emma stormed off, Fred and I had Defense Against the Dark Arts, so it was easy to ignore him then. At lunch, I avoided acknowledging him directly, choosing only to engage Lee in direct conversation. Then, I had Transfiguration (thankfully without Fred), after which I snuck off to the library, knowing he would never think to look for me there. It felt wrong avoiding my own twin but, while I knew he probably didn’t mean for his teasing to get so out of hand, I was still pissed off at him. He nearly outed us. Part of me thinks that might have been his goal.

Which is why I’ve taken to ignoring him. It’s a tactic we usually take when we disagree. We learned early on that confronting each other head-on usually goes in one ear and out the other, often leading to a full-on fight. As in a physical fight. On the other hand, ignoring each other leaves us to figure out what we did to piss off the other, and from there, we’re able to have a semi-civilized conversation about it. The last time we had a real disagreement, for example, was last year when we brewed that aging potion to try to enter into the Triwizard Tournament. Fred had sworn that the potion should work. It did not. In that instance, we didn’t employ our usual “ignore until one of us either apologizes or gets over it” technique, and each ended up with a black eye and a bleeding nose from the resulting scuffle in addition to the three-feet-long white beards that rivaled Dumbledore’s. And while I currently had a desperate urge to just sock Fred right in the mouth, I don’t think that would actually make me feel better about the situation in the long term, so ignoring him is the way to go.

I check my watch and realize it’s time for dinner, so I pack up the homework I wasn’t actually paying attention to and head toward the Great Hall. Just as I’m about to walk through the door, I feel a hand on my arm, stopping me and pulling me aside. I don’t even need to look to know who it is.

“What is it, Fred?” I ask flatly, jerking my arm out of his grip and crossing my arms across my chest.

“I get it. You’re mad at me. I acted like a prat.” When I don’t say anything, he sighs and shoves a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand.”

“You hardly ever do, yet…” I grumble in response.

“I know, I know. I am sorry, though.”

“I just don’t understand why you can’t be happy for me.”

Fred reels back. “Not happy for you? Georgie, you can’t— you don’t actually think that, do you? Of course, I’m happy for you. I’ve never seen you this happy before. Which is why it bothers me that she’s making you sneak around just because she’s embarrassed or something—”

“It was a mutual decision,” I interject. “We just want to figure out how we feel before _literally_ everyone starts inserting their opinions into our relationship. And that includes yours, so—”

Fred raises his hands in surrender. “I get it. I’ll lay off.” We stare at each other for a moment before he speaks again. “So, you’re not bothered that you two have to sneak around?”

“Nope. Alright, at first I was, but after Saturday… It’s kind of nice having something that’s just ours. Also, I think it actually helps us maintain that balance between friendship and dating. We’re not going to stay a secret forever, just until things aren’t as… new.”

“Ok, I guess that makes sense,” Fred says, nodding. “So, we’re alright, yea?”

I smile and punch his arm lightly. “Yea, we’re alright. Although you should probably apologize to Emma.”

Fred smiles sheepishly. “Yea, she looked pretty pissed off. Have you talked to her?”

“I haven’t seen her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was avoiding both of us, to be honest,” I admit, staring down at my feet.

“I really buggered things up, didn’t I? Hang on, I think I see her.”

I turn and look over my shoulder to find Emma coming through the entrance hall door, her head tilted back laughing at something Ron was saying. As she gets closer, I manage to lock eyes with her and give her a small smile, which she returns until she sees Fred. Her face drops into a scowl, and I watch as she whispers something to Hermione before marching over while Harry, Ron, and Hermione head into the great hall without her.

“Hermione wants me to tell you both that our first meeting is tonight. Seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy at seven o’clock,” Emma says flatly before turning to head into the great hall. I quickly catch her hand to get her to stop and look up at me, but she keeps her gaze down. “We’ll talk later, George.”

I give Fred a pleading look as she starts to walk away, and she gets a few feet away before Fred calls after her. “Oi, MacKenzie, hold up!”

Emma whirls back around and storms back the few steps over to us. “What, Fred?” she spits.

Fred’s eyes go wide for half a second as Emma glares up at him, a fiery look in her eyes, and her arms crossed over her chest: a positively terrifying look that I hope never to be on the receiving end of. He swallows to compose himself. “Right, I— I wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

“Well, what the bloody fuck did you think would happen?” she asks through clenched teeth.

“I— I don’t know. I overstepped. I shouldn’t have teased you like that— either of you,” Fred adds with a glance at me. “But I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again. Just… don’t be mad at George. You can hate me all you want, but don’t break up with George because I’m a complete and total wanker.”

She opens her mouth and closes it again before letting her arms fall to her side. “I wasn’t planning on it.” She turns and looks up at me, her brown eyes softening. “You didn’t think I would, did you?”

“I don’t know. You looked really mad, and I didn’t see you at lunch so I though you were avoiding me,” I admit. I didn’t really think she would, but the fear was there.

She laces her fingers with mine. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you go that easily,” I say, earning a small smile from her.

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you,” she continues. “I was avoiding Fred, so I wouldn’t hex him, and I know you guys are attached at the hip.”

“Not today. George was avoiding me whenever he could, too,” Fred says.

Emma whips her head in Fred’s direction, then looks back at me. “Really?”

“You weren’t the only one who was pissed off at him.”

She squeezes my hand and looks back at Fred, who has an uncharacteristically nervous expression on his face.

“Are we ok, MacKenzie?” Fred asks tentatively.

“Well, I’m still annoyed,” Emma warns, but then the corner of her lips lifts slightly into a smile, “but I don’t hate you.”

Fred smiles. “I’ll take it.”

“Alright, well, can I go eat my dinner now? I skipped lunch, and I’m starving.”

“Just a minute, I say, taking a quick peek around the entrance hall before pulling Emma in for a brief kiss, or what I meant to be a brief kiss, anyway, if she hadn’t drawn me closer by my tie.

“Must you?” Fred groans as we pull apart.

“Shut it, Fredrick,” Emma fires back without so much as a glance at him.

Fred rolls his eyes. “Are we going in, or not? We should all probably go in at the same time, or else you two are going to look suspicious.”

I lean my forehead against hers, ignoring Fred. He can stand to wait to help preserve our cover since he almost destroyed it only a few hours previously. “So, we’re good, too?” I whisper.

“We were never not ok,” she whispers back. I grin down at her as she slowly loosens her grip on my tie and steps away. She turns to look over her shoulder at Fred for a moment. “You no longer get to comment on our relationship,” she says with a hint of playfulness before heading toward the great hall.

At five ’til seven, Fred, Lee, and I strolled up to the seventh-floor corridor that held the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy just like we’d been told, expecting to see either Emma, Hermione, or Harry. But it was empty. 

“She said seven o’clock, right?” Fred asked.

“You were there,” I reply, looking down the hall to see if there’s anyone around. 

“Maybe they’re late?” Lee offers. 

“Hermione hasn’t been late a day in her life,” Fred replies.

“Emma isn’t usually late, either,” I say, distracted by the small door directly across from Barnabas. “Hey, has this door always been here?”

“It’s just a broom cupboard,” Lee says. “Are you sure MaKenzie said the seventh floor?”

“Yes, now hold on,” I say sharply. “I don’t think there’s usually a broom cupboard here,” I continue.

“I think you might be onto something,” Fred says, dropping his voice.

I tentatively hover my hand over the doorknob, and I’m about to open the door, when the door opens on its own, a hand shooting out to take mine and pull me inside. 

“Get in here, quickly!” a voice hisses in a whisper I recognize immediately to be Emma’s. 

I’m yanked into a room that is much bigger than the door would indicate it is. “Merlin’s pants!” I exclaim before dropping my voice to a whisper, “Way to give me a heart attack, Sweets.”

“Oh, shh,” Emma hushes, shooting me a wry smile as she pulls Fred and Lee into the room as well. 

Alright, this room was definitely not always here. I had the Marauder’s Map for four years before giving it to Harry. I knew every inch of this castle-like the back of my hand. So unless Hermione had managed to construct a room in a centuries-old castle at the age of fifteen without anyone noticing— although, thinking about it, I wouldn’t put it past her— there’s only one explanation for the room I was just unceremoniously yanked into. 

“No fucking way,” Fred mutters under his breath as he takes in the room, clearly coming to the same conclusion I had. “No fucking way!” he says louder. “We’ve been looking for this thing for six bloody years!”

“I can’t believe you guys found it,” I say, dumbstruck. 

“The Room of Requirement,” Lee says in awe.

“We’d nearly given up on it, chalking it up to a rumor.” I glance down at Emma, silently asking for an explanation. 

“I’d ask Harry if you want to know the details,” Emma says with a laugh

“Oi! Harry!” Fred shouts, marching with purpose over to the middle of the room where Harry was standing, Lee trailing after him. 

I’m stuck in place, still taking the room in. The walls are lined with mirrors, the floor seems to be made out of some sort of padded material, large targets hang at random intervals from the ceiling, and aside from the handful of dueling practice dummies in the far corner and a bulletin board a few feet from the door, the room is otherwise empty. “How the hell did you find it?” I ask as I look back at Emma in reverence. 

“I didn’t. Dobby did and told Harry about it,” she explains. “But, based on the look of complete and utter admiration on your face right now, I really wish I could take credit for finding it because I could get used to you looking at me like that.”

“Well, I already admire the hell out of you, so it’s only a matter of time before you catch me looking at you like that.” I smile and reach my hand out to give hers a quick squeeze, wishing I could do more.

A faint blush creeps onto her cheeks, and she ducks her head in an attempt to hide it. 

“Merlin, you’re adorable.”

“You can’t say things like that when I can’t kiss you,” she whispers furiously, the flush on her cheeks darkening. 

I give her a conspiratorial grin. “We are standing in the Room of Requirement. I’m sure if we thought hard enough about it, we could probably ‘require’ into existence a place to sneak off and snog.” 

She smacks me lightly on the arm. “George,” she scolds playfully before waving her hands in a shooing motion. “Go away. I’m on door duty, and you’re distracting me.” 

I wink at her before heading over to join Fred, Lee, and Harry in conversation. 

Over the next fifteen to twenty minutes, people are slowly admitted into the room in staggered groups. Hermione must have given staggered times to everyone for when we’d be meeting, which was smart because if the twenty-eight people that now stood in the center of the room had all met outside in the corridor at once it surely would have been suspicious. 

After a few minutes of idle chatter, Emma clears her throat loudly, signaling everyone to pay attention to Harry. Everyone quiets down and stares expectantly at him standing awkwardly at the front of the room next to the bulletin board..

“Right, thanks, Em,” Harry says, awkward clearing his throat. “So, thank you all for coming. I’m glad you got Hermione’s message. Do we have everyone?” He looks to Hermione, who does a quick scan of the room before nodding. “Great. So I guess our first order of business is to come up with a name for our group. Does anyone have any ideas?”

“We could do something starting with the letters’ D - A’ to play off of Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Emma says.

“What about ‘Defense Army’?” Cho suggests, giving Harry a shy smile as a blush creeps onto her cheeks. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” Harry says, shooting her a similar smile. Clearly, his crush on her from last year hasn’t gone away. Hopefully, that doesn’t affect our chances of winning against Ravenclaw this year. Our chasers are significantly better than Ravenclaw’s, but it still wouldn’t bode well for Harry to get distracted by the other team’s seeker, not if we wanted to win the house cup again this year. 

“D.A. could also stand for ‘Dumbledore’s Army’,” Ginny points out, significantly louder and more confidently than Cho had spoken. “He is the Ministry’s biggest fear after all. And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s.”

A murmur of agreement passes through the crowd, so Hermione scrawls the name across the top of the signup sheet then pins it to the bulletin board. 

“Does anyone else have anything before we get started?” Harry asks, giving a pointed look at Hermione.

“I do, thanks, Harry,” Hermione says before clearing her throat to speak louder. “I put a calendar on the bulletin board behind me. If everyone could put on any scheduling conflicts— such as quidditch practices, prefect meetings, major exams, etc.— that will make it easier for us to plan when our next few meetings will be.”

“And how are you going to let us know about each meeting? You can’t exactly expect us all to pass along messages like we did for this one or else we’re all going to get caught,” Zacharias Smith asks sharply. 

I exchange a look with Emma, who has a look on her face that says that she would absolutely punch that guy if she got the chance. Not that I can blame her. The guy is kind of a knob. 

“I’m glad you asked,” Hermione says proudly, reaching her hand into her robe pocket and pulling out a handful of gold coins. She passed half of them to Emma, who helps distribute one to everyone in the crowd. “I placed a protean charm on these so that we can communicate. When we’ve set a time for the next meeting, Harry will change the serial number around the edge of the fake coin, and that change will be reflected in everyone’s coins.”

“The coin will warm up whenever a change is made,” Emma adds.

“A protean charm?” A Ravenclaw, whose name I think is Terry, asks in amazement. “But that’s N.E.W.T. Level magic.”

“It’s Hermione. If anyone out of us is going to master N.E.W.T. Level magic two years ahead of schedule, it’s her,” Ron states matter-of-factly.

“Does anyone have any other questions, or are we good to start the meeting?” Hermione asks, returning to Harry’s side at the front of the room. 

The room is silent for a beat, which Harry uses as a cue to start the meeting. “Alright, great. I thought we can start off today with some duels. That way, we can get a sense of what everyone knows. So, do I have any volunteers?”

The room is silent again; everyone looking around, waiting to see who would be the first to volunteer. Harry’s face looks pained for a moment until Emma steps forward. 

“I’ll go first,” she offers.

“Thanks, Em. Why don’t you pick a partner, then everyone can congregate over to the side to watch.”

Emma walks to the center of the room then takes a moment to look around the room, sizing up her possible opponents, until her gaze falls onto me. I quirk my eyebrow up in question, and she shakes her head in response, smirking and jerking her head to the left of me. “I choose Fred,” she says. 

“Me?” Fred asks. 

“No, the other Fred,” she says flatly, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you. Get your arse over here,” she challenges playfully.

“Oi, no need to be rude about it,” he retorts before leaning over to whisper in my ear. “You don’t think she’s still mad at me, do you?”

I search Emma’s eyes for that familiar fiery look she gets when she’s pissed off, and although she’s currently smiling, it’s definitely there. Meaning, it’s safe to say she’s still mad. But rather than tell Fred that, I decide to let Emma get a little bit of revenge. “Nah, I think she’s over it,” I say as casually as possible.

“Guess we’ll find out, huh?” Fred heads to the center of the room and steps in front of Emma. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather duel someone from your own year? You know, someone who’s a little more evenly matched for you skill-wise?”

“Why do you think I picked you?” Emma says, earning a few laughs and ‘oooh’s from the group. 

“Well, someone’s confident,” Fred teases. “I’ll still go easy on you, though.”

“Alright, you two. Enough of that,” Harry says, suppressing a laugh. “Bow and get to your positions.”

Emma reaches up to pull the wand out of her bun (which consequently sends her hair cascading down her back, something that always makes my heart beat just a little bit faster when she does it) and holds it in front of her. Fred matches the pose, and they both bow then walk about ten paces away from each other. Fred adopts his usual offensive stance I’ve seen him do in a duel, while Emma adopts a relaxed position. I’ve never actually seen her duel before, but she looks at ease, yet absurdly confident at the same time. She has one foot slightly behind the other, and her wand raised in more of a defensive posture than an offensive one. Interesting. I would have pegged her has an offensive dueler, not a defensive one. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Harry says.

Fred gets the first spell in, as I would have expected him to try to do. “Expelliarmus!” he shouts, pointing his wand directly at Emma’s wand arm.

But she’s quick. “Protego!” She waves her arm in an arc in front of her, producing a small silvery shield, deflecting the spell, and before Fred can even blink, her wand is pointed at him. “Everte Statum!”

A white flash spirals out of the tip of her wand. It hits Fred square in the chest, sending him flying through the air, flipping over once before he lands in a heap a good ten feet back from where he was initially standing. 

So, neither an offensive or a defensive dueler. A sneaky one. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Freddie, were you under the impression that I would be going easy on you, as well?” Emma calls at him, earning another round of laughter from everyone. 

“Nicely, done, Em,” Harry says, clearly impressed. “Alright, so who wants to break down what just happened? What did Emma do to get the advantage over Fred?”

As Harry addresses the group, breaking down Emma’s admittedly brilliant takedown of Fred, Emma walks over to where Fred is still sitting on the floor. He’s not injured, of course, at least not physically. His pride is probably a little wounded, but he kind of had it coming. Emma extends her hand out to him in a gesture of good-sportsmanship to help him up. He glares for just a moment before begrudgingly taking her hand, and as she pulls him to his feet, she leans up to whisper something in his ear. He gives her a mischievous smile, which she returns before they both head back to join the group. 

“Ok, maybe she was still a little mad,” I admit as Fred returns to his place on my left. 

“Yea, I think the massive bruise that’s probably forming on my backside as we speak is proof of that,” Fred grumbles. 

As Emma passes, I lean down and whisper a quick “Bloody brilliant, Sweets.” She shoots me a wink before taking a place in the crowd next to Ginny, who promptly gives her a high five to congratulate her.

Fred gives me an incredulous look. “Blimey, you’re so gone for her,” Fred whispers. 

By now, another pair of people were dueling— Zacharias Smith and another Hufflepuff whose name I didn’t know— which gives us cover for our conversation.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, my volume matching his. 

“The goofy, lovestruck look on your face right now, one. And two, you’re congratulating your girlfriend for injuring your own flesh and blood.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I point out, mentally adding a ‘yet’ to that statement. “Also, you’re fine, it’s just your pride that got hurt. And honestly, I wish I could say that you didn’t deserve it, but you kind of did.”

“I apologized!” he hisses. 

“It’s Emma,” I say with a shrug. “You know she tends to lean towards getting even rather than getting over. It also probably didn’t help that you were taunting her.” 

“It was just some friendly pre-duel banter. Besides, she gave as good as she got,” he says. 

“I’m just saying… If you don’t want to end up flattened on your arse in front of a bunch of people, maybe don’t egg Emma on.”

“That only happened because I was going easy on her. But now I know that she clearly can handle her own.”

I knew that tone, and it never meant anything good. Usually, I’m all about the mischief that comes with it, but in this instance? Not so much. “I thought you were going to be leaving her alone. You told her that you were going to,” I remind him.

“I said I would leave your relationship alone,” he clarifies. “But the prank ban on MacKenzie you put in after our fourth year is officially lifted.” 

“I’m not getting involved.” 

“Scaredy-kneazle.”

“I’m not exactly keen on the idea of getting caught up in a war between my brother and my—the girl I’m seeing.” And there would definitely be a war, because if what happened fifteen minutes ago was any indication, Emma can hold a bit of a grudge. “I rather like snogging her, and I’d like to be able to continue that. I’m not going to stop you, but I’m also not going to help you,” I say matter-of-factly. “Her either if that makes you feel any better.”

“Don’t worry, Georgie, it’ll all be in good fun,” Fred promises. “And don’t think I didn’t catch you almost calling her your girlfriend.”

By the time the meeting is over, and everyone in Gryffindor gets back to the tower, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. The common room itself is empty, all of the younger students went to bed hours ago, and almost all of the older students were at the meeting and are now so exhausted that they’re heading straight to bed. So, I don’t have to wait long to pull Emma aside to get some alone time with her. 

“Hey,” I whisper, catching her hand before she’s able to too far up the stairs to the girls’ dorms.

Emma turns and smiles then steps down until she’s standing on the first step. “Hi.”

“If you’re not too tired…” I start to suggest.

Her arms come up to rest around my neck, her fingers carding through my hair. “Give me about twenty minutes to change into my pajamas, get ready for bed, and wait for everyone to go fall asleep?” 

I nod and rest my hands lightly on her waist, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Twenty minutes.”

We part ways, and I head to the dorm to change into a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and brush my teeth, which doesn’t take me all that long. Once I’m done, I don’t bother waiting for my roommates to fall asleep to head downstairs. Fred already knows about Emma and me, Lee either suspects it already or doesn’t care why I would be sneaking back downstairs, and Kenneth Towler, the other bloke we share a room with, definitely doesn’t care about what I do. Not after Fred and I slipped bulbadox powder into his pajamas causing him to break out into boils in our fifth year. I head straight to the common room take a seat on the small bench in the alcove by the window, leaning against the wall with my legs propped up on the seat, to wait for the remainder of the twenty minutes for Emma to come back down, 

“How are you not cold sitting by the window in just a t-shirt?” Emma asks, popping up next to me while I was distracted, looking out the window. 

I turn my head to look at her, standing with her arms wrapped tight around her torso to keep warm despite the thick woolen jumper she has on. “Not everyone has as hard a time retaining body heat as you do,” I tease. “Nice pajamas, by the way.”

She has on a pair of fleece bottoms that are bright blue and covered in yellow and black bumblebees, which is probably the most endearing thing I’ve ever seen. She blushes slightly. “My dad gets me the most ridiculous pair of pajamas for Christmas every year. I think he either still thinks I’m a kid or wishes I was.”

“I think they’re cute. Very you,” I say brightly. 

She smiles and motions for me to move my leg, and I comply, allowing her to settle onto the bench in the space between my legs, her back pressed against my chest and her head nestled just under my chin. 

I press a kiss to the top of her head and wrap my arms around her. “Did I already tell you that you were absolutely brilliant today?”

She hums softly and turns to kiss my cheek. “You did. But honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Although it did feel good.” 

“You did get Fred back pretty good,” I say with a laugh. “By the way, what did you say to him when you were helping him up?”

“Oh, I just told him to consider us even. Although, I seem to remember you saying that I was ‘off-limits’ for grand pranks, meddling, and teasing, so what changed?”

“To be fair, it was only pranking that was off-limits,” I clarify. “And don’t pretend that you don’t secretly like when we tease you.”

“I like it when _you_ tease me.” She flashes a coy smile and idly starts trailing her fingers along my forearm. 

“But, Fred didn’t for it to get out of hand like it did,” I continue. “I think he just wanted to embarrass you a bit, maybe get you to tell him to piss off. I don’t think he really expected you to go over to talk to Davies.”

“I didn’t think I had much of a choice. Fred seemed pretty intent. It’s like he wanted Harry and Ron to catch me in a lie.”

She wasn’t wrong about that, exactly. Fred hadn’t outright admitted that that had been his goal, but I can read between the lines. But I don’t think that Emma necessarily needs that particular detail. At least, not right now. “The point is, he said he’d lay off of you… in that regard, at least.”

Her fingers still on my arm. “‘In that regard’?” she repeats back at me. “What does that mean?”

“Well...” I say, drawing out the word, “He did have his pride hurt quite a bit—”

“Boys and their bloody pride,” Emma grumbles. 

I can’t help but smirk before continuing. “Yea, well, he’s officially declared my prank ban on you ‘lifted’. He said something about you clearly being able to handle your own.”

“Ah. I’ve opened myself up to a prank war, haven’t I?”

“I believe so, yea. But I’m staying out of it. I can’t pick sides between the two of you.”

“I’d never ask that of you.” She tilts her face up to place a kiss on my jaw. “Mostly because I know you’d pick him and I’m not sure I fancy trying to pull one over on the two of you. One of you I can handle though.” 

“Are you sure about that?” I ask with a laugh. 

“Oh, yea. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve,” Emma says, her lips twisting into a mischievous smile. “Tell Fredrick that it’s on.”

Although we’re not in the best position for it, I lower my head and capture her lips in a fierce kiss anyway. “Mischief is a sexy color on you, MacKenzie.” Emma smiles brightly and leans back in for another kiss, which I happily oblige her with. “Although, I feel like I should let you know that Fred hates when people call him Fredrick. He hates when people use his full name in general, actually.”

“Oh, good to know. His middle name is Gideon, right?”

“How on earth did you know that?” I ask incredulously. 

“Same way I know yours is Fabian,” she says casually. “I’ve been around enough times to hear your mother yelling at the two of you.”

“Betrayed by my own mother. Well, I guess it’s only fair for me to know your middle name, then.”

“Marie.”

“Well, that’s much better than Fabian,” I scoff. 

“I don’t know, I kind of like Fabian.” She smiles and settles back against my chest, resuming tracing circles on my arm. “And it’s better than Ron’s middle name. I mean, Billius?”

I bark out a laugh. “And how’d you get that one out of him?” 

“I’m very persuasive,” she says mysteriously. 

“Speaking of being persuasive,” I say, suddenly remembering what caused the fight between Emma and Fred to begin with. “What did you say to Davies to get him to play along?”

“Oh, that,” she mumbles. “Well, first, I had to explain that I used him as a fake date, which was mortifying. Then, Cho assumed it was Harry that I was secretly seeing, and I couldn’t let her keep thinking that because Harry has a massive crush on her, so I had to tell them that I’m seeing you.”

“You’re a good friend,” I interject.

“Aren’t I?” she jests. “Not that I can tell Harry what a good wing-witch I am. But anyway, so then Roger did actually ask me to give him intel on how our team is looking. That part wasn’t a lie.”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“Merlin, no! I’m loyal, dammit.”

“That you are,” I agree, pressing a kiss to her a temple. “I’m pretty sure you’d have ended up in Hufflepuff if it weren’t for your wicked, rebellious streak.”

“But, I did have to offer him something else… Involving you.”

I don’t like the sound of that one bit, but I stay silent to let her continue. 

“I may have told him that I would get you to try not to purposefully aim any bludgers at him during Gryffindor’s next match against Ravenclaw,” she says tentatively.

“Oi! I take everything back, traitor. You told him I’d throw the match? Well, that’s not bloody likely,” I growl. 

“Now hang on,” she scolds. “I worded my offer very carefully. I specifically say the words’ try’, ‘purposefully’ and ‘at him.’ I said nothing of accidental bludgers or bludgers aimed at other players. Qualifications aside, he was more than happy to agree. He’s a bit terrified of you, I think, and I think he honestly just wanted to avoid another broken limb.”

My face lights up. “I take it back again. You’re brilliant and definitely not a traitor.” 

She turns and flashes a smug smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

I kiss her firmly, carding my fingers through her hair to keep her lips pressed against mine. After a few long moments, I pull away. “You’re wicked clever, and I love it.”

She beams at me. “And don’t you forget it.”


	15. Prank War

**CHAPTER 15: Prank War**

* * *

**EMMA**

It didn’t take long for Fred to make the first move in his self-declared prank war. It was a relatively simple prank, but a sneaky one, I had to give him that. I hadn’t even realized I’d been pranked until a week later. I had been expecting something a little more… loud, considering what I’ve seen him and George pull over the past four years, but maybe that’s what he had been counting on.

Somehow, he’d gotten access to my school bag and swapped out my favorite raven feather quill (the one Hermione had gotten for me for Christmas last year) with an identical one that apparently misspells everything, a test product of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes no doubt. Simple. The most intricate part, and what made the whole prank as sneaky as it was, was that the effects didn’t set in until a few hours after the words had been written. At least, that’s what I assume since it had taken me a few hours to do the Charms essay I’d ended up using the prank quill to write. In the end, it didn’t really cause much harm, but I should have caught it. Under normal circumstances, I would have, but instead of going over my essay the night beforehand as I usually do, I’d decided to go to Gryffindor’s quidditch practice. 

Maybe Fred had been counting on that, too; he had been the one to bring upcoming by practice to watch, after all. I can’t give him too much credit on that front, though. I had been planning on going to practice that night with Hermione anyway, whether or not Fred had suggested it. Hermione had said that she needed to take a break from studying, but I suspect that she actually had wanted to make a show of supporting Ron, who still wasn’t convinced that he belonged on the team. Whatever her reason, I was glad for the cover. Now that we’d gotten well into October, both George and I had significantly less free time to sneak off to spend time together; between Dumbledore’s Army meetings that were planned for at least once a week (sometimes twice if the schedule allowed for it), my homework load, and George’s twice a week quidditch practices. To make up for it, George started to spend more time in the library with me while I studied, and I started going to George’s practices. We were hardly alone in either instance, but spending time near each other, even surrounded by our friends who had no idea about the two of us, was better than spending no time together at all.

But regardless of whether Fred had the forethought to distract me from my regular essay revision schedule, or he had just gotten lucky, I didn’t catch the fact that my entire parchment and a half long essay had been grossly misspelled before handing it in yesterday— and I mean _grossly_ misspelled. Like my name being spelled as ‘Edwin McKaengle’ levels of misspelling. Luckily, I’d handed it in to Professor Flitwick who, instead of just failing me as any other professor might, called me up to the teacher’s table at breakfast to talk about my essay earlier this morning. The moment he handed my essay to me to look at, I knew Fred had gotten me, and I said as much under my breath as I swore. Professor Flitwick, a secret admirer of the twins and their pranks, simply waved a wand over the essay, reversing the charm that had placed on it. 

So, no harm was done, but it was time to get him back, especially since now I had to go back and un-charm all of my notes I’d taken since Thursday. So, on my way out of breakfast, I fired off a diffindo charm at Fred’s school bag, making it split in at least three places. Not the most elegant way to go about getting retaliation, but it did at least give me that rush of instant gratification. Besides, I’m pretty sure Fred underestimates me, and I need him to continue to do so if I’m going to get a leg up on him. That was the first bit of advice I’d gotten from Grandpa when I wrote to him this past weekend telling him about the challenge Fred had issued. 

After my last class of the afternoon lets out, I head straight to the library, eager to get a jump start on my homework before dinner so I can go to the quidditch pitch tonight and not have to worry. I find my usual table in the back corner where I know no one ever sits, get out my Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, and set to copying the Chapter Five text four times “for maximum retention.”

After about fourth-five minutes of scribbling away, I hear a voice pop up behind me. 

“Hey.”

I jump and turn to smack George (because of course, I recognize that voice) square in the stomach. “Will you stop sneaking up on me like that!”

George flashes a grin at me and drops a kiss to my cheek. “Sure thing, Sweets,” he says before grabs a chair, spins it around and straddles it, folding his arms along the back of it. 

“Yea, you aren’t going to stop, are you?” 

“Not likely, no.”

I roll my eyes and turn back to my revisions. 

“That’s not the same quill, is it?” George asks, gesturing to the quill I’m holding, which does look the same as charmed one.

“No, I binned that one. I borrowed this one from Ron. It’s the same type as mine was, but it doesn’t feel the same,” I sigh.

“I may have something that’ll cheer you up,” he says, reaching into the bag he’d dropped to the floor and pulling out a raven feather quill. My raven feather quill. “I knicked it out of Fred’s trunk while he was in Herbology this morning.”

“You’re the best!” I gasp before leaning forward to give him a long kiss. As I pull away, George slips his hand to the back of my neck, keeping me from getting too far away. I can’t help letting out a soft giggle as he chases my lips with his. 

“So, I had an idea,” George murmurs against my lips once we finally break apart. “What are you doing after dinner?”

“Well, I was going to continue to do some more revisions so I can come to your practice again tonight unless you have a more enjoyable suggestion.”

“A much more enjoyable suggestion, depending on how you feel about flying.”

I pull more fully away and give him a skeptical look. “My feelings about flying are that I’m terrible at it. I haven’t flown by myself since my first year flying lessons. The last time I was even on a broom was two years ago when Harry got the Firebolt, and I made him take me so I wouldn’t have to fly by myself. I’m pretty sure I cracked one of his ribs because I was holding on so tightly.”

He lets out a loud laugh, which I promptly shush so we don’t draw attention to ourselves and get thrown out of the library by Madame Pince. “That scared of heights, are you?”

“I’m not scared of heights,” I retort. “Tosser decided to do a loop without warning me first.”

“Ah, well, then he deserved the broken rib then,” he teases.

I roll my eyes but smile nonetheless. 

“So, if I were to suggest taking you flying around the quidditch pitch before practice, would you say yes or no?”

“Hmm, that depends. Are you going to try to get up to any funny business, like flying in a loop without warning me?” I narrow my eyes, giving him a look just threatening enough for him to know exactly what I’d do if he pulled anything of the sort. 

“Not without warning,” he says, pressing a kiss to my furrowed brow. “I promise, no surprises. Just a nice soar around the pitch.”

“We won’t get into trouble?”

“Nah, Angelina got full permission from McGonagall to practice whenever we want to, and there’s no rule against flying during free hours. I also checked the schedule with Hooch, and no one has the pitch booked before our practice, so all should be good.”

“You actually checked the rules?”

“Oi, don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “I just figured getting detentions would be a surefire way to ruin a date.”

“I think I could get behind this idea.”

“Although I can’t promise there won’t be any funny business at all. I’ve never snogged on a broom before so that maybe something I’d like to try,” he adds with a flirtatious grin. 

“Oh, well, that sounds like something I can fix,” I say, making my best attempt to sound sultry. 

It appears to have worked, because George lets out a low hum, almost like a growl, before sliding his hand back into my hair and bringing lips back to mine. “So, meet me in the courtyard at six-thirty?” he asks.

I duck my head to check the time on my watch, which is a little awkward, seeing as George’s hand is still entwined with the hair at the nape of my neck. It’s five-fifteen, which doesn’t give me a lot of time to run up to my dorm and change out of my uniform (because I’m definitely not flying in a skirt if I can help it) and get back for dinner, but that’s alright. I probably shouldn’t eat all that much before flying anyway, in case my stomach gets all fluttery and queasy like it did the last time I was on a broom. 

“Six-thirty,” I repeat back at him, pressing one more kiss to the corner of his mouth before packing up my stuff. 

An hour and fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on the edge of the gargoyle fountain in the middle of the courtyard, watching the sun dip down behind the clock tower. I pull my cloak tighter around me and try to suppress a shiver, just as George comes jogging out. 

“Hey, sorry I was trying to find Fred so he could run interference for us,” George apologizes, running a hand through his hair. 

“It’s alright. I’ve only been out here for a minute or two,” I say, standing and smiling up at him. 

“You look cold, are you sure you’re up for flying?” he asks, settling his arms loosely around my waist. “It’ll only be colder up in the air.”

“I’m always cold. I have trouble retaining body heat, remember?” I quote back at him, a faint, teasing smile playing at my lips. “I’ll be fine. You’ll just have to keep me warm, is all.”

“I think I can manage that. Shall we?”

I nod and slip my hand into his for the walk down to the pitch. “So, did you end up finding Fred?”

“Nope, and I haven’t seen him since lunch. Thought he might be up in the dorm planning his next—” he stops short, shaking his head. “But he wasn’t up there.”

“You were about to say his next prank against me, weren’t you?”

“I have no idea what it is, so don’t even ask,” he warns playfully. 

“Do you want to know what I have planned next?” I ask.

“’ Next’?” he repeats. “Did you already get him back for the quill thing?”

“Oh, yea. Almost instantly. It wasn’t elegant or thought out, but—”

“Oi! MacKenzie!” a voice shouts just as we’re passing the greenhouses. 

“Oh, Fred! There you are. George was looking for you earlier. Where were you?” I ask, not bothering to stop walking.

“As if you don’t know!” Fred grumbles, falling into step next to George, who’s giving me a bemused look. 

“Am I missing something here?” George asks, moving his gaze to Fred. 

“Yea, your girl here decided that it would be funny to diffindo my bag on the way out of breakfast this morning.” Fred jabs a dirt-covered finger at me, then wipes his hands on his outer cloak, which is covered in dirt and green smears. 

“That doesn’t explain why you’re covered in dirt,” George points out. 

It takes all of my restraint not to smile or laugh.

“I’m getting there,” Fred says shortly. “MacKenzie split my bag in three different places, making my stuff scatter and smash on the entrance hall floor, getting ink all over everything. And Filch saw it happen, so he made me sit there and clean it up. But it was that new ink we were testing, so I couldn’t magically clean up the spill.” 

“You’re inventing an ink that can’t be cleaned up magically?” I ask.

“Oh, yea. Anti-vanishing ink, for permanent graffiti. We’ve only been able to get it to be resistant to magic, though. Soap and water still clean it right up,” George explains. 

“Oi! It does _not_ clean ‘right up,’” Fred corrects. “I scrubbed for nearly thirty minutes before Dumbledore came by, took pity on me, and sent me off to class. So I was forty-five minutes late to class, and Sprout gave me detention for it instead of just taking away house points. I’ve been moving around ages of dragon dung fertilizer for the past two hours.”

George lets out a loud laugh, just as we get to the quidditch pitch. “I don’t know, Emma. It may not have been elegant, but it sounds like you got quite a bit of mileage out of a simple spell.”

“Of course, take her side,” Fred complains. 

George laughs again and leads me toward the Gryffindor locker room, Fred trailing behind us. I’d never been in the quidditch locker rooms before now. Directly opposite where we came in was a set of doors I assume lead to the pitch. To the left were seven stalls, each with a small bench to sit on and a locker marked with each player’s name. In the middle of the room were several more benches, all facing toward a bulletin and chalkboard combo covered with diagrams and moving pictures. And on the right were two smaller doors marked with signs for girls and boys lavatories. 

“Honestly, Fred, if you’re going to get your wand all in a knot over a simple bit of mischief, we can just call it a draw now,” I tease. 

“Oh, no. You’re not getting out of this that easily, MacKenzie,” Fred says, throwing his school bag into a stall with his name on it. “So what exactly are you two doing down here so early? I thought you two snuck off to the fourth-floor mirror passageway to snog.”

“I’m taking her flying,” George says, turning to his locker and opening it with a series of taps of his wand. “What are you doing down here so early? Don’t you want to go get something to eat before practice?”

“Dinner’s over by now,” Fred says with a shrug. “Besides, I can’t stomach eating something with the smell of dragon dung burned into my nostrils like it is right now. I was planning on flying off some steam before practice until I ran into you two, that is.”

“You still can,” I offer, trying to maintain an air of friendly decorum despite being ‘at war.’

George turns and smiles at me, broom in hand. “Here’s an idea: how would you fancy learning how to be a beater?”

“What?!” I sputter. “I can barely fly, and you want me to try to hit a speeding bludger that’s trying to kill me?”

“You’d still be with me on my broom,” George assures me. “We can also use the old training bludgers. They’re older than Dumbledore and slower than a sloth.”

“Yea, they kind of just hover until they’re hit,” Fred adds as he opens his own locker with a different series of taps from his wand. Everyone must have their own unique combination. “And even then, they don’t go that far.”

“I don’t know,” I say, biting my lip. 

George smiles reassuringly and leans his Cleansweep Five against his stall so he can rest his hands on my waist. “We can still start out slow, just flying around until you get comfortable,” he says in a low voice. “But we don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought you might have some fun beating the shit out of something with a bat.”

That gets me to laugh. “Ok, yea. I’ll try it. You’ll be right there?” I ask, a hint of worry in my voice. 

“Right there with you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

George puts on his beaters pads over his jeans and jumper then takes my cloak from me to hang in his locker. “So it doesn’t impede your movement too much,” he explains. “Do you want my quidditch robes, or will you be alright in your jumper?”

I look down at my yellow knitted jumper. It’s not one of my warmest, but it’s one of my cutest, which is why I decided to wear it today. This was a date after all, even if Fred was kind of crashing it at this point. “I’m pretty sure they’d swim on me,” I say.

“We can roll up the sleeves.”

I smile and (semi-begrudgingly) slip-on George’s quidditch robes over my jeans and jumper. I was right, they do swim on me a bit, but once I roll the sleeves up a bit, they’re alright. Much better than my own cloak would have been flying around. 

Once we’re both ready, George grabs his broom and leads me out to the pitch so Fred can change into a set of spare clothes, since his are wholly covered in fertilizer. We walk to the middle of the pitch, which is starting to get darker now that the sun is almost completely set. 

“It gets dark so early now,” I muse.

“I kind of like it. I prefer the night to the day. But, we should probably get started before we lose all of the light. Here,” George says, holding out the broom for me to take.

“You want me to mount first?” I ask, my voice rising half an octave. 

“Yup. You’re steering today. It’s how Charlie taught me before I was ready to fly on my own.”

“How old were you?”

“About three, I think? Mum was furious when she found out that he and Bill had taken Fred and I flying so young.” A fond smile breaks onto his face. 

An image of a tiny George zipping around on a broom with his older brother forms in my head, and I can’t help smiling, despite the nerves pumping through me. “That’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I wish my brother had thought to teach me things like that.”

His smile falters slightly. “Sorry, I know you don’t have the best relationship with your brother.”

I shake my head and keep my smile planted firmly on my face. “You don’t have to apologize for being close to your siblings. The bond you all have is one of the things I love so much about your family.” 

His smile returns as he holds the broom out again for me. “So, are you ready?”

I stare at the broom for just a moment, summoning all of my Gryffindor courage, before nodding. “As I’ll ever be,” I say, tentatively grasping the broom handle. I take a deep breath and try to remember everything Madame Hooch told me in my first year. Breathe slowly, maintain balance, focus. Be one with the broom. I slowly swing my right leg over the broom and stare at the ground before closing my eyes and kicking hard off the ground. The broom starts to hover, albeit a little shakily. When I open my eyes, I look down and see that I’m flying a few inches above the ground. 

“Nicely done, Sweets,” George says encouragingly. 

I do my best to flash him a confident smile, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I look back up at him. 

“Merlin,” he mutters under his breath, stepping close. 

Since I’m hovering in mid-air, it’s one of the rare occasions where I’m at eye level with him. “What?” 

“You,” he says, kissing me softly. The broom threatens to lurch forward, but I manage to keep it under control. Surges of emotion can apparently have an effect on flying. “Seeing you in my quidditch robes, flying on my broom.”

“This sparks your fancy, does it?”

He laughs and kisses my cheek. “Definitely. I kind of wish I had a camera so I can preserve this image forever.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that. But I’m sure I could be convinced to come flying with you again, depending on how today goes, anyway.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he says, punctuating the thought with another kiss to my cheek. “Now, scoot forward so I can get on behind you.” 

I grip the broom handle tighter.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve got you.” 

The broom steadies as George reaches out to grasp it, giving me the courage to scoot forward to create space for him. He presses down on the handle, lowering the broom slightly so he can mount it, then swings a leg over. His arms come around my waist as he reaches to get a hold of the handle, just behind where my hands are gripping for dear life. 

“Ready?” he whispers in my ear. I nod, and he kicks off the ground. 

We start to climb into the air at a reasonable pace. Not too fast, but fast enough that the breeze begins to blow through my hair. Once we’re at about the same height as the goal hoops, George leans back to pull us to a stop. 

“Doing alright?” he asks.

I manage a nod.

“We can fly lower if you want,” he offers, reaching behind me to sweep my hair back and all over my right shoulder.

I peek over my left shoulder to see him smiling. Despite the raging case of pixies fluttering in my stomach, that smile puts me at ease, and I start to relax my white-knuckle grip on the broom handle. “No, I’m fine. I told you, it’s not heights I’m afraid of. I’m not afraid of flying either. I was fine on Buckbeak. It’s just brooms I’m wary of.”

“Well, I’m right here. You’re safe with me,” George says before guiding my chin farther back to kiss me. 

I let myself melt into him, enjoying the contrast of his warm lips to the cool October night air. “Thanks,” I say once we finally pull away. 

“So, what do you remember about your flying lessons?”

“Besides hovering in place? Absolutely nothing,” I admit. “Like I said, I was rubbish.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs. “Well, the basics are pretty intuitive: pull up to go higher, lean forward to go, lean back and pull up on the handle to break, and lean to either side to turn. The key to it really is balance.”

“That’s the part I had the biggest problem with. I couldn’t keep the broom steady.”

“That might be because of your grip,” he explains. He wraps his arms around mine and starts to adjust my hand placement. “Here, leaving some space between your hands helps distribute weight more, and keep your hands relaxed and your elbows bent a bit. It makes it easier to change directions.”

“Alright,” I say, nodding. Goerge settles his hands on my waist, thus leaving me to control to broom on my own, and for the first time since I’ve ever climbed onto a broom, I feel stable. “Hey, I don’t feel like I’m two seconds away from falling off!” 

He laughs and pecks my cheek. “Ready to take a few laps?” 

“I think so.” I peek over my shoulder at him again, and he nods, so I lean forward, willing the broom to spur forward. 

I go slow at first, not wanting to risk losing my newfound confidence, but once I get accustomed to turning, I lean forward slightly more to go a bit faster. Sometime in the middle of our third lap around the pitch, I spot Fred coming out of the locker room, broom in one hand, two beaters bats in another, and a slightly struggling bludger tucked one arm. I watch him quickly mount his broom and kick-off, soaring into the air with confidence. Once in the air, he tosses the bludger up and hits it with one of the beaters bats. I falter slightly, scared of where the unpredictable ball is going to go, which makes the broom lurch forward slightly. 

“Sorry!” I quickly apologize, as I try to regain control of the broom and my composure. 

George gives my waist a light squeeze once I break and manage to get the broom to level out again. “You’re good. You’re doing really well,” he murmurs in my ear. “Don’t worry about the bludger. Watch.” 

He points, and I watch as the bludger soars through one of the goalposts. If it had been a normal bludger, I would be expecting it to wildly change direction and possibly come flying toward me, but instead, it just comes to a slow stop in the air just beyond the hoop. 

“You two weren’t kidding. They really do just come to a stop and hover,” I stay in relief. “Why do they do that?”

“After a while, the enchantment on them starts to wear off, I think,” he explains. “Based on how quickly that one came to a stop, it’s probably on its last legs. But that means it’s perfect for you to practice on. Do you think you’re ready to give it a shot?”

“Do you think I am?” I ask, turning over my shoulder to look at him. 

“I think you are. You’re not as ‘rubbish’ as you say you are. You’re actually doing rather well, and I’m not just saying that because I fancy you, in case you thought that,” he assures me playfully.

I smile and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Georgie. You’re a good teacher. You make me feel safe, which— what are you grinning about?”

“S’nothing. Come on, we don’t have long before the rest of the team starts arriving for practice,” he says, still grinning widely. 

I raise my eyebrows at him, but don’t bother trying to get any more out of him. I face front and propel the broom forward again, this time toward the center of the pitch where Fred’s hovering a few feet above us. I pull the broom up to pull us higher, then lean back to come to another jerky stop next to Fred. “Ugh, sorry,” I apologized again. 

“It’s alright. That one was better,” George says, giving me a squeeze around my waist. 

“So, MacKenzie, think you’re ready to hit something?” Fred asks, extending one of the bats out to me, handle first. 

“I think so,” I say, slowly taking the bat in my right hand. 

“I’ll take control of the flying part so you can just focus on the ball,” George says in my ear as he leans forward more to get a hold on the broom handle. 

“And I’ll head to that end of the pitch so I can hit it back your way,” Fred says before zooming off toward the goalposts where the bludger was still hovering in mid-air, jerking a foot to the left or right every so often. 

“So, what exactly do I do?” I ask, looking at the bat in my hand.

“When it comes this way, hit it.” 

I scoff. 

“No, really,” George says with a laugh. “Just take a big ol’ swing at it and try to get it as far away from you as possible.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound all that complicated. And here I was, thinking you had one of the more difficult positions on the team,” I tease. 

“Oi, you. It’s more difficult when there’s two of them, and they’re coming at you full speed.” He pokes me in the side, making me squirm and let out a high pitch squeal.

“Hey! Maybe don’t tickle me when we’re floating a hundred feet in the air!”

George’s arms wrap tightly around my waist, and he kisses my neck. “I wouldn’t let you fall. Now, just keep your focus on the ball,” he says, readjusting his grip on the broom handle. “And try to swing from your core, not just with your arm. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

“Ready, MacKenzie?” Fred shouts from the other end of the pitch. 

I take a deep breath, and George reassuringly kisses my neck once more before I shout back, “Ready, Weasley!”

Fred hits the bludger precisely, sending it sailing in our direction. I tighten my grip on the bat as George expertly flies us into position for me to hit it. It gets closer, and I wind my arm up, trying to remember to engage my core like George said to. 

“Now,” George says gently, just as the bludger comes into range, and I swing.

The bat makes contact with the ball with a loud crack, and I feel the vibration from the collision running up my arm. The bludger soars back across the pitch in Fred’s general direction, although a bit wide. It has a good amount of speed with it, though. 

“Hey! I did it!” I exclaim, turning to see George’s face. 

He beams at me. “Brilliant!”

“Not half bad!” Fred shouts as the bludger careens into the stands, hitting a bench and bouncing off before coming to a stop. “A little wide, but it still packed a good punch!”

“How’d it feel?” George asks. 

“Wicked,” I reply, my face splitting into a wide grin. “Although I don’t see myself having a quidditch career ever.”

He laughs. “Didn’t think you would. But are you at least less terrified of brooms now?”

“I wasn’t terrified,” I argue. 

“You were shaking like a leaf. And I don’t think it was just because you were cold.”

“Fine. I guess I’m less scared of brooms now. At least, when I’m you anyway.” I turn more so I can bring a hand up to caress his face, then lean in and brush my lips against his. “Thanks for this.”

“‘Course,” he says before kissing me again. 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Fred calls as he speeds toward us. We pull apart slowly, just as Fred comes to a stop next to us. “It’s nearly eight o’clock, so unless you two fancy getting caught…”

“Thanks, Fred,” I say.

“Want to take us down?” George asks.

I shake my head and settle against his chest. “Nah, you can do it.” 

“Sure thing, Sweets,” he says, brushing a kiss on my temple.

***

“Oh, good, mail’s here!” George says just as an owl drops a stack of letters onto his plate of eggs. He picks them up and shakes a bit of egg off of them before fanning through the bundle. “Looks like we got at least fifteen more orders for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

I stare down at my plate, trying to keep a straight face. With any luck, one of those order forms is the one that I sent in, under a false name, of course. If I’d used my own name, Fred would see the prank coming and won’t open the envelope. And I needed him to open the envelope.

I watch as George unties the string around the bundle and start to look through the envelopes. Merlin, please don’t let him open the one from me. I’d warned him that I had a prank planned for today so that he wouldn’t get swept up into it, but he refused to let me tell him what it was, saying he wanted to be able to have plausible deniability. So the only warning I was able to give him to try to spare him from being an unintended casualty was that the prank would be at breakfast and that he needed to be on guard.

About five envelopes into the pile, he pauses and looks at me from across the table, his eyebrows raised. I give him a nearly imperceptible nod and let a small smile play at the corner of my mouth. He sets the letter aside along with the rest of the pile, then passes it to Fred. “Here, you open these, and I’ll mark the orders down,” he says casually, reaching into his bag for a notebook and a quill. “Last time you marked the orders down, I couldn’t read your handwriting, and we ended up sending out all of the wrong stuff.”

Fred shrugs but starts opening letters without question and muttering to George every-so-often about which products were ordered so he could mark it down in their log. 

“Hey, Ron, are you going to read your copy of the Daily Prophet?” I ask, needing something to do to distract from my anticipation. 

“Yea, go for it,” Ron says as he takes a bite of his toast. 

I pick idly at my porridge and peruse the headlines while I wait for Fred to get to my letter. Not that today’s headlines are much different from the past two months’. Filling each page are reports of muggle attacks, mysterious disappearances, a werewolf attack that occurred during the recent full moon, and accompanying each report are declarations from Fudge that those were all work of a radical minority with no connection to Voldemort. I shake my head and let out a sigh. 

“That’s why I don’t read the Prophet any more,” Ron muses as I fold the paper in half and hand it back to him. 

I notice that Fred has finally gotten to my letter (I recognize the parchment I used for the envelope) out of the corner of my eye. He flips it over and breaks the wax seal, then— CRACK.

“Bloody hell! What was that?!” Ron exclaims, knocking his pumpkin juice over, spilling it all over the issue of the Prophet.

I slowly move my gaze over to Fred and see that he’s absolutely covered in fine red and gold glitter. I smirk but manage to hold in a laugh. 

“You’ve got a little something on your… Well, everywhere actually,” George says, also stifling a laugh. 

“Oi! You knew about this! That’s why you had me open the letters!” Fred exclaims, trying to wipe the glitter off of his face. 

“I didn’t!” George swears. “I did, however, recognize her handwriting on the envelope.” He shoots me a wink across the table. 

“What are you two going on about?” Ron asks as he attempts to clean up his spilled juice. “Who sent you a glitter bomb?”

“Whoever it was, they’re pretty good,” I say. 

“Come off it, MacKenzie, I know this was you,” Fred says. Still failing miserably at cleaning up the glitter.

“You, Emma?” Hermione pipes up from my right, finally looking up from her arithmancy textbook. She has her prefect voice on, but then she takes one look at Fred and dissolves into a fit of giggles. 

“What? You’re not going to do something about it, Miss Prefect?” Fred asks.

“Sorry, Fred, you look absolutely ridiculous,” Hermione says, still laughing.

“Besides, it’s what you get for putting dragon pepper flakes in my soup on Tuesday,” I say. 

“Mr. Weasley!” A voice rings out from behind me. “Why, in good heavens, are you covered in glitter?” I turn around to see Professor McGonagall standing behind me, her lips pursed into a fine line. 

“House pride?” Fred offers. 

“Just clean yourself up,” Professor McGonagall scolds before exiting the great hall. 

I give Fred a surprised look. 

“I’m no snitch, MacKenzie. I’ll get you back,” Fred promises with a wink.

And the next morning, he did. 

The moment I left the great hall after breakfast, a trumpet appeared in midair, playing a loud, nonsensical tune. After the initial scare of a trumpet blasting in my ear, I recovered and quickly transfigured the trumpet into a kitten. I had intended to just leave the kitten behind to roam the castle, figuring that it wouldn’t be that bad to have an adorable little fluff ball just wandering around the corridors spreading cheer, but when Fred had enchanted the trumpet, he clearly had different ideas. Although I had managed to transfigure it successfully, somehow the charm he’d used to get it to follow me around stuck because the kitten would not leave my side. So I scooped it up and put it in the hood of my uniform robes, where it promptly curled up and went to sleep. 

I’d managed to spend most of the day without any of the professors noticing that I was keeping a kitten in my robe hood, at least until I got to transfiguration. As Professor McGonagall walked around the room to pass back our most recent essays on vanishing spells, she instantly spotted the kitten. I explained to her what happened (obviously leaving out who had charmed the trumpet to follow me in the first place), and while she was impressed with my long-lasting transfiguration of the instrument (and even gave me five house points for it), she corrected the issue. 

“It’s not a real kitten, Miss MacKenzie. You can’t keep it as a pet,” she said as she reversed the transfiguration and quickly vanished the trumpet before proceeding with the lecture for the day. 

I was fully aware that the kitten wasn’t real. Still, it didn’t stop me from missing it any less once Professor McGonagall had made it disappear. Maybe I would ask Dad for a cat for next year. 

In retaliation for the trumpet-kitten incident, I snuck up to the boys’ dorms and charmed all of Fred’s uniform shirts pink. However, much like Fred’s prank, it didn’t seem to have the desired effect. Like how I quickly turned the trumpet prank into a positive by transfiguring it into a cuddly kitten that kept me company all day long, Fred seemed not to be embarrassed by his pink uniform shirts. In fact, he wore them proudly and declared that he “quite liked the color on him.” He also somehow managed to avoid detention for being out of uniform, claiming that his shirts hade gotten dyed in the wash, although there’s no way that could have possibly happened. 

Since our most recent attempts had clearly fallen short, the only logical response was to step up our game. Which is how I ended up jumping to try to retrieve my textbooks that were currently floating in midair in the common room, just out of reach. 

“Dammit, Fred!” I swear under my breath as I jump to reach my transfiguration book, which was floating over the couch, just above Hermione’s head. The moment I jump to reach it, the book flies a few inches higher. All of my books were doing the same thing whenever I tried to grab them. Whatever charm Fred had placed on them seemed to make the books float higher whenever I tried to reach for them. The clever bastard. 

“Have you tried using a summoning spell?” Harry asks, watching me with a bemused look from one of the armchairs by the fire. 

“Oh! Good thinking,” I exclaim. I pull my wand out and point it at the book. “Accio transfiguration book.” The book in question floats even higher, and I let out a frustrated groan. 

“Honestly, Emma,” Hermione starts, closing her own transfiguration book and setting it aside, “this whole prank war you and the twins have got going on is starting to get out of hand. I stayed silent at first because I didn’t see the harm in it, but now it’s starting to disrupt everyone. I mean, look at the common room.” She gestures across the room, where all of my textbooks are floating about six feet off the ground, scattered around the room.

“I know you’re in prefect mode, Hermione, but please don’t say anything. If you do, Fred will just take it as a win, and I can’t give him the satisfaction,” I say before trying to make another jump at my book. 

“How did this even start?” Harry asks. “Now that I think about it, I didn’t think Fred and George ever pulled any pranks on you. It’s like you were immune or something.”

“It’s a long story,” I sigh before walking around to the front of the couch, thinking that maybe if I start climbing on the furniture, I might be able to reach the books. 

I’m not. 

“Having trouble, MacKenzie?” I head Fred’s voice ring out from the portrait hole. 

“You!” I shout, pointing my wand at him. He instantly raises his hands defensively, as if he’s afraid I’ll hex him. “What the hell charm did you even place on my books? Every time I try to grab or summon them, they just keep floating higher.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Fred says, a smirk spreading across his face as he plops down into an armchair. George, who’d followed him into the common room, takes the chair next to him. 

“Oh, really? Watch.” I point my wand at the book and try to summon it again, which makes it fly across the room this time instead of flying higher into the air. “ARGH!” 

Fred dissolves into a fit of laughter, along with Harry. 

“Shut up, you,” I scold, pointing my wand at Harry, who holds his hands up similar to how Fred had. “Alright, you’ve had your fun,” I say, turning back to Fred, “but I need to do my homework, so can you please just reverse the charm or whatever so I can get to work?”

Fred stands up, and for a moment I think he’s actually going to help, but he just grins at me. “Nah, I think I’ll let you figure this one out for yourself,” he says with a wink before heading to the stairs leading to the boy’s dorm. 

I sigh heavily and climb off of the couch, then shoot a pleading look at George, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet. “I don’t suppose you know what charm he used, do you?” 

“No, but I have a suspicion that he designed it specifically to annoy you.” 

“Of course, he did,” I say, rolling my eyes. I storm over to the table, where my charms and divination books are floating and attempt to grab at them again. “Oh, I am _so_ getting him back,” I swear under my breath as the book lifts a few inches higher into the air. 

I hear George laughing behind me, so I shoot a glare over my shoulder at him. He smiles fondly at me then stands up and walks over to me. “Here, let me try,” he says, reaching up and effortlessly plucking one of my books out of the air. “Yup, it looks like it’s just you that he charmed them to avoid.”

I smile gratefully up at him as he deposits the book in my hands. Thankfully, it doesn’t start flying back into the air once I try to touch it. Clearly, whatever charm was placed on them gets broken once _someone_ touches them, as long as it’s not me. “Thanks, Georgie,” I whisper. “Think you could get the rest of them down for me?”

“Sure thing, Sweets,” he whispers back.

“Wait, so has this prank war has just been between Fred and Emma?” Harry asks.

“I’ve been staying out of it,” George says casually, plucking more of my textbooks out of the air and handing them off to me. 

“But why? I assumed you two always pulled pranks together,” Harry says.

“Well, I’m not exactly going to be pulling pranks on my g—” I look at George with wide eyes. “On MacKenzie,” he corrects, “if she doesn’t have anyone to partner up with. Two against one just doesn’t seem fair.”

“Besides, Fred started it on his own, so he can fight in the war on his own,” I add. 

Harry gives us a skeptical look but doesn’t say anything further.

“Alright, MacKenzie. Here’s the last of them,” George says, plucking the last book out of the air. 

“You’re my hero,” I say, giving him a soft smile. I turn my attention back to Hermione and plop down on the couch next to her. “Alright, now we can work on that transfiguration essay.”

***

“I thought I might find you here,” George says, coming through the mirror hole to our secret spot on the fourth floor.

“There were too many people in the common room,” I explain without looking up from my potions textbook. Quarterly exams were starting tomorrow, which meant that everyone was panic studying and had been for most of the weekend. I’d tried to study in the common room with Hermione, but I couldn’t focus. And I knew that if the common room was a chaotic mess, the library would have been worse, so I came here instead. 

“Are you ok to take a break?” George asks, plopping down onto a cushion next to me.

I blink a few times, then look up at him, realizing that if he’s sitting here with me instead of on the quidditch pitch for another impromptu practice, then it must be a lot later than I thought. 

“Ok, yea, you’re definitely taking a break,” George says softly, taking the book off my lap and shutting it. “Your eyes are all red, and you’ve got that little crease above your nose again.”

“I thought you said it was cute,” I mutter. 

“It is,” he chuckles and leans forward to press a kiss on my brow, “but you should still take a break.” His lips brush against my temple, my cheek, my jaw.y

My eyes flutter closed, and I let out a soft hum. “Yea, alright.”

I hear a rustling of books being shoved aside, then I’m pulled into George’s warm chest as we fall back against the pillows. “How was practice?” I ask although it’s not the question I really want to be asking. I _really_ want to know how Fred reacted to my most recent prank, but I’ll ask that next.

“Exhausting. Angelina is completely on edge about the match against Slytherin next weekend. I’m not sure how many more impromptu practices I have in me,” he grumbles. “But I think we’re in really good shape for it, though.”

“I’m really looking forward to kicking Slytherin’s arse this year,” I say. “So, did anything… exciting happen at practice?”

“Oh! I completely forgot!” George exclaims, sitting up so quickly that I slip and collapse back onto the floor.

“Oof.”

“Sorry, Sweets,” he apologizes sheepishly before his expression quickly turns to one of awe. “How did you do it?”

I smile widely. “First, I want to know how he reacted.”

“Oh, he was completely barking. He was yelling at me for telling you the combination to his locker, but I pointed out to him that I didn’t even know it. His broom,” he says, shaking his head, beaming. “I mean, Angelina wasn’t pleased that practice was going to be delayed, but even she seemed to get a bit of a kick out the look on Fred’s face. Seriously though, how did you pull it off?”

“Well, I was there when he opened his locker, and I’d already been thinking of a way to gain access to his broom, so I memorized the combination he used. Once I had that, I just had to think of a way to deface his broom without causing any lasting damage, because I’m not evil.”

“No, just incredibly mischievous,” he says playfully. “And brilliant. The anti-severing charm you put on the yarn? It took him nearly an hour to unravel the whole thing by hand. A stroke of genius.”

“Stop,” I say, blushing. 

“I’m not even joking. Your ability to wreak havoc with something so simple is an absolute marvel.” He leans down and kisses me, making me blush even harder. 

“I can’t even take full credit, though. Half of the ideas I had actually came from Grandpa, I just had to use magic to make them a little more magic proof. Because what fun would it have been if Fred was able to just wave his wand and vanish the mess.”

“Wait, so did you do something similar to the glitter? Because our dorm is still partially covered in the stuff. Towler is decidedly _not_ pleased,” he says with a laugh. 

“I cast a sticking charm on it.”

“Brilliant,” he says with a laugh. “But you still didn’t tell me how you pulled it off. As of last night, when we got done with practice, Fred’s broom was decidedly yarn free.”

I bite my lip and look up at him. “I may or may not have borrowed Harry’s cloak and the map,” I admit. 

“MacKenzie…”

“What?”

“That’s—” He groans and kisses me soundly, his hands skimming my waist. “I didn’t think it was possible to be any more attracted to you than I already am, yet, here we are.”

I giggle softly and wind my arms around his neck, dragging his lips back to mine, officially forgetting the concept of studying...at least for the next hour or so.


	16. Emma's Birthday

**CHAPTER 16**

**Emma's Birthday**

* * *

**EMMA**

“Alright, everyone,” Harry says, returning to the front of the room of requirement to the club’s attention, “that’s it for today. Our next meeting won’t be for another two weeks, but keep practicing whenever you can and great work.”

There’s a spattering of applause as everyone starts to collect their stuff from various corners of the room. The Hufflepuffs are first to leave, followed by a majority of the Ravenclaws, minus Luna, who basically skips right up to me. 

“Happy birthday, Emma!” Luna chirps. “I made you this.” She hands me a glittery envelope with my name scrawled in beautiful script on the front.

“Oh!” I exclaim awkwardly. “Uh, thank you.” I smile graciously and open the envelope to find a similarly glittery homemade birthday card with a Gryffindor lion on the front. I open the card and find that the inside is enchanted to spell out “Happy Birthday, Emma” in glittery fireworks. “Wow! Did you do this all by hand?” I ask in awe. 

“I did! At first, there wasn’t as much glitter, but I was inspired by your prank on the twins,” she says brightly.

“How did you know that was me?” 

“It had your aura around it,” she says airly. 

I smile at her even though I have no idea what she could possibly mean by that. “Well, thanks, Luna. I love it. You’re quite talented.” I reach forward and give her hand a squeeze, unsure of whether or not she’s a hug person or not. 

A few more people start to filter out of the room, Gryffindors this time, all shouting a chorus of “happy birthday” as they leave. I wave thanks then look back at Luna.

“Thank you,” Luna says. “I’m working on something larger scale for the Quidditch match on Saturday, but don’t tell Harry or Ron. I want it to be a surprise. Well, I should be off! See you Saturday!” She flashes another bright smile at me, then skips to the door and disappears through it. 

I carefully tuck the card back into the envelope then go to retrieve my bag so I can leave. Looking around the room, the only people left are Harry, Hermione, Neville, the Weasleys, and Lee, which are the people who are usually the last ones to leave. I’m in the process of putting my outer robe on over my uniform when I hear the telltale crack of house-elf apparition behind me. 

“Dobby, what are you doing up here?” I hear Harry ask. 

I turn and see Dobby and Penny standing in the middle of the room, holding a massive sheet cake. 

“Penny tells Dobby–me that it’s Miss Emma’s birthday, so we make her a cake!” Dobby says proudly. 

“Who’s Penny?” Harry asks.

“I is Penny, sir!” Penny says proudly. “Emmy tells me all about you, sir. Tis a pleasure to meet you!”

“Emmy?” Harry asks, confused.

“Oh! And you must be Miss Hermione!” Penny says, turning to Hermione. “You is the one making all of the hats! I was already free, but I still appreciate the gesture.” Penny smiles and points to the fuzzy knitted hat tucked over her large ears.

“Oh, you’re welcome!” Hermione says. “I didn’t know any other free elves were working in the kitchen besides Dobby and Winky.”

I shuck my robe again and make my way to the center of the room, where Penny can finally see me as to prevent anyone from saying anything else before I have a chance to explain. 

“Emmy!” Penny exclaims, throwing herself at my legs before I can get the chance to crouch down. 

“What are you doing up here, Penny?” I ask, crouching down once she finally lets go of my legs. 

“Tis my Emmy’s birthday! I wasn’t gonna forget,” she says, taking my hands in hers. 

“I know, but usually, I come down to the kitchens on my own,” I remind her. “How did you even know I’d be up here?”

Penny gives me a knowing smile and leans up to whisper in my ear, “New boyfriend came to talk to me. Wanted to surprise you. He’s quite smitten with my Emmy.”

I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks, and I risk a glance at George. He flashes me a small smile. 

“Do you know this house-elf, Emma?” Ron asks. “Actually, that’s a stupid question. Obviously, you do. I guess I mean, _how_ do you know this house-elf?”

“I—erm—” I stammer, glancing around the room, not focusing on anyone’s face for too long. My gaze falls on Dobby last, who’s still standing there, holding my cake. “Penny, can you help Dobby with the cake?” I whisper to her. 

Penny jumps. “Oh! Right!” she exclaims. She lets go of my hands and runs back over to Dobby. With a wave of her hand, she conjures a table with several plates on it then helps Dobby lift the cake up onto the table. 

I take a deep breath then stand up, realizing that it’s time to come clean about my family. I’ve kept it to myself for long enough, and now that Dad has been semi-helping out the Order, the idea that my family history isn’t all that different from the Malfoys or the Blacks might go over smoother than it might have a few years ago. 

“So, I haven’t exactly been the most forthcoming about who my family is,” I say tentatively. “I know you all know that my mother was muggle-born, but my dad’s family… Penny is my family’s house-elf. Well, used to be—”

“You have a house-elf?” Hermione asks, her voice on edge. 

“Free house-elf, miss,” Penny pipes up, having returned to my side. “Emmy accidentally set me free when she was but little.”

“We’d inherited her from one of my dad’s great aunt or something, and I was so young that I didn’t understand— doesn’t matter. I accidentally set her free, but Dad wanted to keep her on since she wouldn’t have had anywhere else to go. She kind of became my nanny, since Mom was gone and Dad was busy with his Ministry work,” I explain in a rush.

“But you had a choice of whether or not to stay, right, Penny?” Hermione asks, purposefully not looking me in the eye. 

“Oh, yes!” Penny says quickly. “Didn’t want to leave little Emmy. Although, not so little anymore,” she teases, looking up at me.

I look down at her and smile, feeling tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away quickly. 

“I don’t know, she’s still pretty tiny,” George says quietly in an effort to lighten the mood. 

I let out a watery laugh. 

“Hang on,” Ron starts, “so if you have a house-elf—”

“ _Had_ ,” I emphasize. 

“Had,” he amends. “That means that your family is loaded.”

I give a weak nod. 

“You’re not— You’re one of _those_ MacKenzies?” Ron says, flabbergasted. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. I only kept it hidden because you didn’t figure it out right away, so I thought I could finally get away from my family name.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before,” Ron says, shaking his head. 

“That’s because I didn’t want you to make the connection!” I shout at him. “I’m ashamed of that part of my family!”

“So, you’ve just been lying to us,” Ron points out.

“I never lied. I simply didn’t mention anything about my dad’s side of the family because I try to forget that they exist. I talk about my grandparents all the time because they and my dad are the family that matter to me.” 

“Can someone explain what’s going on for the non-wizard raised people in the room?” Harry asks, slightly annoyed. 

“The MacKenzies are a pure-blood fanatical family, just like the Malfoys, Blacks, Crabbes, Goyles,” Ron lists off. “Slytherins, the lot of them.”

“Ron, I think that’s a little unfair,” Hermione says quietly, finally looking me in the eye. 

“Come off it, Ronald,” I spit. “Just because I share a surname with someone that doesn’t mean I share their beliefs. Look at Padfoot for Godric’s sake? His family is much worse than mine, and I didn’t see you grilling him about it all summer.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harry give me a surprised look. I feel an instant wave of regret at mentioning Sirius, especially in mixed company. Still, I used his Marauder name, and based on the look on their faces, at least, Neville and Lee had no idea who the hell I was talking about. 

“I have no idea who this ‘Padfoot’ person is,” Neville says, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the room (and I see Harry relax slightly at the confirmation that Sirius’ identity was safe). “But Emma has a point, a person’s family name doesn’t dictate who they are as a person. Emma isn’t like any of those families that you mentioned, and if her father married a muggle-born, then clearly he isn’t like them either.”

I drag my gaze away from Ron and look to Neville, who I feel a sudden urge to hug for standing up for me. 

“Neville’s right, Ron,” Fred says. “Mum raised us better than to believe in that family name rubbish. So stop being a git. It’s Emma’s birthday for fucks sake.”

“Yea let’s focus on the cake,” George adds. 

“Nice rhyme, Georgie. It’s like you’re a poet.”

“And I didn’t even know it.”

A loud laugh escapes my lips, and the twins both shoot me a wink. Bless those boys for being able to lighten a mood.

I stare at Ron for a moment, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything resembling an apology. He ducks his head and mutters something I can’t quite hear, but I don’t bother making him repeat it. I know by now that I can’t make Ron apologize before he’s ready to. 

“So, cake?” Lee pipes up, interrupting the awkward silence that had fallen over the room once again. 

I laugh and nod. “Cake. But no candles and no singing, because most of you are tone-deaf.” 

Everyone laughs in agreement, and Penny and Dobby get to work cutting the cake into slices and passing them around. The room is relatively silent as everyone eats, but I think I partially prefer it that way. It’s better than continuing to discuss my family history.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaims once she’s finished with her slice of cake. “We had a present. Hold on.” She waves her wand, summoning a wrapped box from her bag. “Harry, Ron, and I chipped in.”

The box lands in my hands, and I smile at her. I slowly unwrap the box to find a beautiful, hand-crafted leather cross-body purse. “It’s gorgeous,” I gush, lifting the bag out of the box and bringing it up to my nose. “Oh, and it has that fresh leather smell. I love it, thank you.” 

Hermione smiles widely at me before walking over and wrapping her arms around my neck in a tight hug. Whatever momentary anger she held toward me for having a house-elf had clearly dissipated, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that. 

Over her shoulder, I lock eyes with both Harry and Ron. “Get over here, you gits,” I say, waving them over. 

Harry rolls his eyes but walks over to join in on the hug anyway. However, Ron stays put. He flashes an awkward smile at me, though, so I guess that’s something. 

After a few moments, Harry and Hermione step away. 

“We should probably head back to the common room. It’s nearly curfew,” Hermione says, checking the time on her watch. 

“If by ‘nearly’ you mean an hour from now, sure,” Ron jokes. 

“We also have rounds tonight, Ron.”

“Oh, yea.” 

“You guys go ahead. It’s my turn to make sure the door is concealed,” I say. I lock eyes with George for a split second, wordlessly telling him to find an excuse to be the last one to leave. 

“Are you sure? It’s your birthday, after all,” Hermione says.

“Yea, I’m sure. Thank you, though.”

Ron stands awkwardly for a moment then mutters a quiet, “Happy birthday, Emma,” before going to grab his bag and disappearing out of the door with Hermione. 

I say thank you and goodbye to Penny and Dobby while the rest of the room clears out until finally, it’s only George and me left. The moment Fred and Lee slip through the door into the corridor, I’m on George, flinging my arms around his neck and kissing him hard. His arms curl reflexively around my waist, holding me close as his lips move fervently against mine. 

“Hmmmm,” George murmurs against my lips once we finally pull apart. “What was that for? Not that I’m complaining.”

“For lightening the mood.” 

He pulls away more fully to look me in the eye, his hand coming to cradle my cheek. “I’m so sorry. I forgot that people didn’t know about Penny. I didn’t mean to bring up your whole family history.”

“It’s ok. It had to come out sometime. With the impending war, it was going to just get harder hiding it,” I say with a sigh. 

“Still, I didn’t mean to ruin your birthday.”

“You did not ruin my birthday,” I insist. “You surprised me with cake, which was incredibly sweet of you, so thank you.” 

“I wish I could take full credit for it, but Fred gave me the idea,” he admits. 

“Really?” I blurt out. “I thought he was still whining about me vandalizing his beloved broom with yarn.”

“Oh, I think he’s still planning a way to pay you back,” George warns playfully, “but he put those plans on hold for your birthday. He wouldn’t say it out loud, and he has a funny way of showing it sometimes, but he cares about you quite a bit, I think.” 

I smile at that and make a mental note to thank Fred later, both for helping George come up with my birthday surprise and for putting Ron in his place. “Yea, I care about that lovable muppet, too,” I grumble good-naturedly. 

George grins at me. 

“What?”

“I just like seeing my family and my girlfriend bonding,” he says, kissing my forehead. 

Now it’s my turn to grin. “Am I officially your girlfriend now?” I tease. 

George’s cheeks flush. “Oh, I— I mean, I don’t have to— if you don’t think we’re there yet—” he stammers. 

I giggle and cut him off with a kiss. “It would be a shame if you didn’t start calling me your girlfriend because I was rather looking forward to calling you my boyfriend.”

“Yea?” he whispers, bringing his forehead to rest against mine. 

I hum in agreement. 

“So does that mean you’re ready to tell people about us?”

“I think so,” I whisper nervously. “Are you?”

He kisses me firmly and enthusiastically, which gives me the answer I needed. “How should we go about it?”

“I don’t know that I want to just sit everyone down to tell them,” I muse aloud. “Maybe we can just stop sneaking around, so they figure it out on their own?” 

“So, I’ll just snog you in the middle of breakfast, and that’ll be that? Not to be a downer, but that’s kind of what happened today, and you saw how that went over.” 

“Ok, I see your point.” I roll my eyes. “It would probably go over better if we sat everyone down and told them. Ron’s already hates me enough for lying.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” George insists. “He’s just—”

“Stubborn?” I finish.

“To be fair, so are you,” he teases. 

I open my mouth to protest, but he pacifies me with a drawn-out kiss. “You can’t always shut me up by kissing me, you know,” I murmur lazily against his lips. 

“Can’t I, though?” he replies cheekily. 

I grumble noncommittally and kiss him again, because I can’t help it, before pulling away and lowering back down off my tiptoes. My calves groan in relief. Part of me wishes he wasn’t as tall as he is, but only a small part. I were any taller, or he were any shorter, the way I fit in his arms just wouldn’t work as well. There’s just something anice about being able to rest my head on his chest as he wraps his arms tightly around me. It’s comforting.

“So, when do you want to tell everyone?” I ask.

“Let’s wait until after this Saturday’s match. Ron is nervous enough as it is, and I don’t want anything rattling him anymore,”a George says. 

“Do you think he’s going to take it badly?”

“No,” George reaches up to cup my cheek then runs his thumb over my bottom lip, which gets me to stop nervously chewing on it. “But, I think he will probably be a little shocked, so I feel like it’s better to be safe. Is that ok?”

“Yea, it makes sense. Besides, that gives him time to stop being mad at me.” 

“Sweets…”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I’m just annoyed—”

“I’m sorry—”

“At him,” I finish. “I’m annoyed at him. Not at you. But it’s ok. We’ll both cool off in a few days. Let’s just get back to the common room before anyone realizes we’re missing. It’s almost curfew.”

“Wait, I almost forgot!” George exclaims. “I got you a birthday present. Hang on.” He pecks a kiss on my forehead before dashing to the corner where he had stashed his school bag. He returns a moment later with a poorly wrapped package, which he thrusts into my hands excitedly. 

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” I coo. 

“I know. Wanted to, though,” he says, smiling.

“But, you’re trying to save money for the shop.”

“Fred and I have money coming in. Besides, we’ve also got all of that start-up gold from Harry’s Triwizard Tournament winnings—”

“Harry gave you two his tournament winnings?” I gasp. He never told me that.

“Yea, so don’t worry about it. I’ve got some pocket money for the first time I can remember and someone I can spend it on.” He bends down and places a kiss on my cheek. “Let me spoil my girlfriend on her birthday.”

I smile up at him then start to unwrap the package. I let the paper fall to the ground, which George promptly vanishes, and look down at the vintage muggle polaroid camera in my hands. 

“It’s enchanted to develop moving pictures instantly rather than having to use the special potions that normally make photos move,” George explains. 

“I’ve always wanted a camera,” I say, beaming up at him. “I just always forget to mention it to Dad when he asks for my Christmas list.”

“So you like it, then?” he asks nervously. 

“I love it.” I lift to my toes, bring my hand to cup the side of his neck, and brush my lips against his. “Thanks, Georgie.”

“Mmmm. I like it when you call me that.”

“Hmm?”

“‘Georgie,’” he kisses me quickly, “I’ve never had anyone besides my family call me that.”

“Oh.” I blush slightly. “I hadn’t even realized I was,” I admit. When did I even start calling him that? 

“It’s nice.” 

“So is there film in here?” I ask after a beat. 

“There is.”

“Shall we take a photo then?” I ask, hopefully. 

“Yea, alright,” he says with a grin.

I smile and turn to face away from him. “Stand behind me so I can try to get both of us in the frame,” I instruct him. 

He steps up close behind me then wraps his arms around my waist, bending slightly so bring his face closer to mine. 

I smile to myself and lift the camera up, using the lens’s reflection to check that we’re in the frame. “Ready?” I see his reflection nod, so I press the shutter down.

Just as the flash goes off, George squeezes my waist and plops a sloppy kiss on my cheek. 

“George!” I say with a laugh, looking at him over my shoulder. “It probably came out all shaky now.”

“Maybe not, let’s see,” he says. He plucks the polaroid out of the developer’s slot at the top of the camera and wiggles it like a fan for a few moments. 

“Does that actually help it develop?” I ask skeptically. 

He shrugs. “No idea. But I saw a muggle doing it in an illustration in my muggle studies book, and they’d know, right?” After about half a minute, the photo fully develops. George holds it up for us to look at. “Look at that, we’re adorable.”

In the small square photo, playing on a loop is a scene of George and me smiling, him kissing me on the cheek, and me laughing. He’s right. We are cute together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://mooncat457writing.tumblr.com/)!


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